


Teenage Hedonists Make For Strange Friends and Even Stranger Bedfellows

by i_dream_of_eden



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Coitus Interruptus, F/F, Fluff, Humanstuck, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, Multi, Past Relationship(s), Porrim Maryam is best girl, Porrim Maryam wins Pan Disaster of the year, Porrim Maryam wins momfriend of the year, alpha troll fic in the year of our lord 2018? it's more likely than you think, feed the author comments, gratuitous softcore loving, pls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-12 15:22:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 86,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15342729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_dream_of_eden/pseuds/i_dream_of_eden
Summary: A concrete angel, adrift on a sea of sin and radiant in the harsh glare of halogen. Those are the words that first sprang to Meenah Peixes' mind when she'd caught sight of the beautiful stranger she'd met while trying to drown her sorrows in 150 proof rum. But the burn of her drink as it sears its way down her throat is not why her chest fills with warmth, why her cheeks flush with heat, when their eyes meet. And for how intimately familiar she is with the elastic band theory of relationships, that whoever's left holding on is the one who gets hurt, she has no idea what this stranger has in store.Aranea Serket is a British exchange student at one of the many high schools on Isla Atlantica. Beyond hailing from the land of fish and chips, spotted dick, and tea o'clock, that she is British is the only notable thing about her. There's not much else to be said about her save that she is the homeliest of wallflowers, her partygoing friends not accounted for. But all that changes when she finds herself staring into violet eyes, tyrian like the smoggy sunsets of her South London hometown.





	1. Prelude

It was June, and the sweltering heat wasn’t helped by the venue. Her skin was unpleasantly sticky with sweat that hadn’t quite evaporated away, the same sweat matting her hair to her forehead. And worse still, Porrim had only narrowly avoided breaking her neck after her disastrous crowdsurfing attempt. The soreness that stiffened her neck still stung, every time she tried to do more than nod. But the heat making a mess of her hair and her near brush with potential quadriplegia were the furthest things from her mind. Rather, it was the way Meenah so eagerly chatted her up, the way her friend’s lips buzzed at her ear miles in a minute, that occupied the forefront of her thoughts. Her friend’s eyes glittered, bright, but unfocused. Distant. The gleam in her eyes didn’t hide the haze storming beneath tyrian at all. And Meenah trying to talk her ear off was only her first clue that something wasn’t quite right.

Between the way her friend was just a little too into the night’s festivities, and the number of drinks she’d had, it became painfully obvious that Meenah wasn’t quite herself. She… she was spinning. Meenah was spinning, back and forth between the glass clutched between her fingers and the spectacle her partner was making at the beer pong table. On normal days, Meenah would be indifferent to Cronus’s shenanigans. But today, for some strange reason that hadn’t yet dawned on her, Meenah was loud. Her friend cheered without restraint as Cronus sank ball after ball into the dwindling array of cups at the other end.

No, that something was wrong with her friend didn’t escape Porrim’s notice. But all the same, she said nothing. Because she understood. Porrim understood that the Meenah in front of her, the one vigorously moving her body and cheering on her partner as he gave the other guy an excuse to get blasted off his face, was the other side of the coin. And if she was going to be honest with herself, it was the side she preferred.

As selfish as it was, she much preferred this Meenah, so vivacious and full of life even if it was artificial, over the violet-eyed girl who stood distant and apart, who spent her time coldly staring into a sweating glass. She much preferred the Meenah who was quick to throw an arm around her neck without a care in the world, and boisterous enough that it hurt her ears, to the Meenah who sat with them at lunchtime, silent and lost in her own head staring out the window, brooding. She preferred this Meenah, who was in very real danger of giving herself alcohol poisoning, because she’d take any victories she can get. Because the other Meenah, untouchable, aloof, the other Meenah who poured over the countless empty reasons that she deserved the pain she’d been given, the Meenah who dwelled on the what-ifs and could-have-beens with _her_ , broke her heart.

It was why Porrim said nothing when she suddenly found herself panting against lips that shouldn’t have been familiar but were, staring into eyes clouded over with inebriation as well as fleeting lust. It was why she returned Meenah’s kiss as gently and as tenderly as she could manage, and raised no issue when her friend declared that she was going to take her somewhere with a little more privacy. On the one hand, it was something she’d always wanted, the chance at making a memory with this girl. The acceptance Meenah so freely gave of the nature of her relationship with Cronus was also very welcome.

But all the same, she found herself hesitating as this Meenah led her off the dance floor. And suddenly, the coin spinning through the air in her head became a blur. This Meenah, whose fingers were so warm around hers, whose smile filled her chest with syrupy warmth, and the Meenah who built impenetrable walls around her heart for fear of being hurt, for fear of loving and being loved... she couldn’t tell them apart. Not anymore. Porrim said nothing as her friend led the way, drowning in a sea of bodies, in a storm of light, sound, and shadow, again.


	2. Old Ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Let Her Go' by Passenger is a terrible song, but god if it doesn't fit

Meenah sighed, eyes boring into the bottom of the near empty glass in her hands. She was drinking again, alone and apart from her friends who were, entirely not to her surprise, enjoying themselves. A frown creased her lips at the sight that greeted her eyes as she scanned the room. The way they sailed through the crowds, buoyed by the infectious energy of the party, more than just irked her. She hated it, hated the way they flit like fireflies between the bright spots of life strewn across the room. And the resentment simmering in her breast at the thought saw her mood sink even lower as heat crept up the back of her neck.

But that they were heedless of her drowning her sorrows wasn’t something she could fault them for, not really. Not when she’d so thoroughly isolated herself for fear of dragging them down, of summoning clouds of doubt to hang over them all. She’d taken pains to keep those thoughts away from her friends, kept quiet and kept her wry smile in place. But she couldn’t quite push down the faint twisting in her gut. It was resentment, she knew, and struck through it was guilt at being so resentful of what amounted to nothing. But whether or not it really was nothing, whether she was right in nursing a grudge, made her reconsider. Was she right, Meenah couldn’t help but wonder. Was the twisting ache in her chest valid, considering its cause?

A low sigh passed her lips as she swiped a hand across her face. And though the sticky feeling of old sweat clung to her hand, she was thankful for the faint chill that had seeped into her palm. The lingering cold was a balm enough on her feverish skin. There was no point in wondering, just as much as there was no point to doubt. Both, about the dark thing twisting in her chest nor what had brought her ire forth. The odd few drinks she’d had saw well enough to that. And she couldn’t help but snort at the thought that rose in turn, just as much as she couldn’t help the reluctant smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. Maybe the alcohol swimming in her veins was exactly _why_ her brain was remembering, for however much she wanted to forget. And the question of what specifically saw that heat give way to a lurching feeling as _her_ name sounded in her head. Her thoughts turned to the past despite her drunkenness. 

_Zora_.

The light of her life and her moon and stars. Her jaw clenched, and her fingers slipped tighter around the glass in her hands. Her ex, to her knowledge, had moved on. And something throbbed inside her at the realization. She might have called it pain, or maybe grief, if she felt because of it. But for the way her heart lurched and tugged at the edges of her ribs, thrashed inside her chest, she felt nothing. All that clamor brought was numbness. It was nothing she could stoke into some semblance of emotion. Not when she’d moved on in her own way, in the only way she knew how - with a lot of alcohol. Or at least, very strong alcohol. She laughed.

At a shade over seventy-five percent alcohol by volume, the cocktail she’d been nursing was so strong, in fact, that she couldn’t feel her face either. And a mirthless smile curled over her lips as she waved the bartender down for another round. But as he topped off her glass, as suddenly it had risen, so too did her smile fall. The murky cocktail in her hand was exactly why Zora had left her. Callousness and unwitting cruelty, her own demons and vices, her sordid history, all wrapped up in rum and pineapple juice.

Numbness became gnashing teeth, heat became writhing thorns, and the void in her chest throbbed again for a long moment. Zora had ruined her go-to coping mechanism for her. And all the same, as she had for an endless number of instances in the past, Meenah drank, and relished the flare of pain as liquid fire seared its way down her throat. But that familiar burning wasn’t why she nearly choked on her next breath, nearly doing a double take when she spotted a figure whiling in the corner.

Pale blonde cast molten gold beneath the light, and the figure’s face, looking at once lost and perfectly at home in the middle of a throng of teenagers getting hammered and shitfaced. Sea blue eyes, brilliant and vivid even in the distance, and her shy smile. Their combined effect, was this concrete angel, adrift on a sea of sin and radiant in the harsh glare of halogen. _That_ was why she found herself choking around the alcohol burning at the soft parts of her mouth. And that was to say nothing of how her heart skipped a beat when this new girl smiled, or the way it skipped again when their eyes met. An electric current surged through her limbs, then, when she found herself drowning in sea blue.

Meenah rose on leaden feet from her stool to close the distance between them, and she’d have called herself possessed for how abrupt the shift in her mood was. But the storm in her head, the warm spring wind blowing through her wintry ribs, as she approached, were enough to see her trepidation fall by the wayside. Put simply, she didn’t care. Months mourning, months spent sequestered and solemn, washed away as the crowd parted like the sea. Meenah felt alive, in a way she hadn’t since Zora’s exodus out of her life.  
____

Meenah breathed. Or, tried to. This girl, who fit against her in ways only Zora used to, for what must have been the third time this night, stole her breath away. Her hands traced hesitantly over lush curves, and her body moved of its own accord to the music drowning out her misgivings. Welcome heat surged out from her chest, and this girl, for her part, stuck to her like glue. Those same soft curves pressed flush against the unyielding planes of her own body, the warmth between them bleeding through their clothes. Meenah could only spin, giddy as the world around her spun with her. She lost herself without care to the dips and steps this new girl lead her through. And for the way the feeling kept her grounded, from spinning off into her own head in the moment, she smiled. But as the seconds drew on, the world around her abruptly ground to a halt, and the voices in her head grew to a deafening crescendo.

A too-loud part of her screamed, berated her for daring to move on so quickly after Zora. She tensed. It snipped and sniped at her, tore at her audacity to skip mourning the end of one of the most meaningful relationships she’d had, all for some skirted tart. And the name tumbling dimly in the back of her head as her eyes met sea blue once more, saw the voices screech that much louder. Shrill words scratched against the inside of her skull, declaring to her mindspace how forgettable this girl was, that she was a no one, compared to _her_. This skirted tart was nothing compared to _Zora_ , the voices clamored. Except, the tart in question was wearing pants, and tasted rather sweet, she returned inwardly.

The way this new girl smiled at her, was bit every as brilliant as the way Zora used to. Her touch, very much welcome, sent butterflies shooting through her veins and balled electricity in the pit of her stomach, a live wire current reaching to her furthest extremities. _Ariana_ couldn’t be compared to _Zora_ , no. But Ariana wasn’t a no-one, and the two couldn’t be compared because they were different people. The voices died down, then. And the world lurched back into motion, spinning as they did. Meenah couldn’t help but dip her toe in grief as she moved to the music, all the same.

She _wanted_ to retreat into her head, because even if it was uncomfortable, painful, it was familiar, an old friend in the worst of ways. And more importantly she didn’t want to forget Zora. The tentative familiarity of hovering in the space between, wasn’t helped by the spinning at the edges of her vision, nor the fuzziness in her head. But it was better than only ruminating on what-ifs and could-have-beens, nursing at the void in her chest so cold it gnarled viciously through her ribs. And heat flared in the pit of her stomach, brought forth by new fingers moving over her skin, new lips raising and soothing blossoms of black blue across warm brown. As she took in each measured caress, each sensuous touch, she let her heart clench, the deepest parts of her viscera surge with new life. Meenah felt her chest throb as her memories of Zora flashed behind her eyes.

Sunny afternoons bordering on dusk streamed through her mind, along the moments they’d spent passed out on her couch - _no, asleep_ , and at peace. She gave a shuddering breath as her fingers dug into Ariana’s hips, just a hair tighter. She and Zora had spent countless hours talking about everything and nothing at all. The nights they had together were much the same, timeless and without end. And so too were the mornings, moments and seconds blurring into each other as the world continued to turn, engraved in her memory. She smiled. They’d been so dead to the world at large in the best of ways, and so lost in one of their own making. And she wouldn’t have traded anything in the world for it. But now, everything was just one senseless morass, time passed measured in drinks that sear her throat and numb her face. Warmth gave way to cold again, if only for a moment. But it was a moment enough, and loss fell upon her with the fury of a storm, ripping through her without mercy, jagged and vicious.

That wasn’t her life anymore, Meenah realized abruptly for must have been the umpteenth time that night. That carefree happiness, the kind she’d unwittingly let slip through her fingers, was lost forever. And when the next revelation struck her - that the best she had nowadays was cold sweat chilling her back, old beer on her tongue at once sour and bitter, she reeled. Isolation and grief made worse by the home she’d made of the bottle saw the ball lightning in her stomach turn to ice at the thought.

The world around her began to spin, dizzyingly fast as she struggled to hone in on the warmth beneath her fingers, the gentle hands settling on either side of her face. And when she opened her eyes, pressing her lips against Ariana’s was all she could do. But for how abruptly she impressed the kiss, and in her drunkenness, Meenah failed to register the prickling in her eyes, the sweat breaking out across her forehead as she made contact. More memories rose, unbidden, aside the gnarled cold raising its head and digging its fangs into her heart. And dread bloomed in her as she flashed back to _that_ night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> e-cookies to anyone who can puzzle out the inspiration for Meenah's drink of choice :) 
> 
> As always, kudos are appreciated, and comments are even more appreciated.


	3. New Beginnings

_Drunken stumbling steps carried her forward, and for the knowledge, the clumsy way her feet shifted about directionlessly, Meenah wished a thousand painful deaths upon herself as she tried to keep pace with the girl weaving and ducking through the crowd with graceful ease. “Zi! Zi please!” the violet-eyed girl desperately called out. “I can’t… I can’t lose you! I promise, I swear I’ll stop with-”_

_Her steps came to an abrupt halt as the head of chocolate brown hair before her stilled. All the world around her fell away. The din of the party, the chaos of countless voices a chorus of condemnation to her ears made worse by the lurching of her head and the haze over her eyes; even her own body, feverish with the heat of exertion and the chill of old sweat bleeding into her skin. The cold deepened, darkened as dread rose in her chest, ice chilling her to her molten core. Zora turned._

_“WIth what, exactly?” the girl hissed._

_Glowing eyes settled on hers, then, hazel alight with lividity, fury, and all-too justified outrage swarming in depths set aflame with hurt she could only try to fathom._

_“The drinking?” Zora began, voice at once low, strained, as though speaking them took too much effort. But just as well, the anguish undercutting each syllable was palpable and clear, made evident in every line of her face. The hardening furrow of her brow, the sharpening downward turn of her frown and the crease along her cheek deepening as the seconds drew on._

_More than furious, utterly livid, Zora was tired. The kind reaching, penetrating, into her bones that made everything else seem impossible. Made bearing the gnarled briar around her heart that much more painful to bear, and the sadness that came with it. She fixed Meenah with a crooked stare, weary and haggard, brought forth only by the force of her will. The curtain of venom around her voice fell away for a moment, words no more than a tense, trembling whisper. “The standing me up every fucking time we decide to go out where it’s just the two of us so you can go to some asshole’s party or whatever?” she breathed._

_Each word was a knife, jagged steel carving its way into Meenah’s stomach, twisted for righteous measure. She could only try to not withdraw into the void growing in her chest as she held that tired stare, willed her hands to stay by her sides so her partner could speak._

_Zora smiled. “Oh wait.”_

_She didn’t. She couldn’t have, not when she knew exactly what her partner, this furious girl, whose heart was in all likelihood shattering again for the second time in the night, was going to say._

_“You’ve already promised to stop all that shit and yet here you are…” the hazel-eyed girl continued, motioning to their surrounding._

_Meenah didn’t need to follow her hands to see the eclectic din of a party well in progress. And despite the chaos of it all, the utter debauchery she’d so relished, recent even going into it just a few hours past, the electricity still sitting in her veins as though she’d touched a live wire with her bare hands made her want to vomit, now._

_“At some asshole’s party…” One. True. The words were a footstep echoing in her mind, the first out the door. “Probably on like what, your fourth beer…” Two. Her fifth. “on my fucking birthday.” Three. The other shoe dropped._

_Meenah paled. She remembered it - the exact moment she’d made the promise to take Zi out. It had been a tentative thing, a private moment beneath a canopy of stars against the dull glow of haphazard fluorescent light. The bi-weekly street market had seemed so quaint and so inviting, then. And she supposed it still was, in hindsight. The inky black of night, some place small, cozy, not necessarily a huge celebration, but a night out with just the two of them, that was what she’d promised the girl before her, a month ago. A peace offering and a declaration made and accepted in good faith. With the recollection came more, however._

_Another night, ending in tears that weren’t her own and a glacially silent drive home, a movie whose plot she could barely recall. An afternoon, hot and sticky and spent wasting away on her couch following a particularly hard-wearing night, dimly-remembered for what had been a colossal hangover. Zora had forgiven her, nursed her back to health out of… whether it was obligation, begrudging affection, some unpleasant combination of both, she didn’t know. But the fact was, after an absolute bender of a party such that she could barely remember even the beginning of the night, her partner had wholeheartedly elected to take care of her. The ghost of bile scoured her throat at the memory._

_Zora’s voice, a concerned, familiar thing close to her heart, heavy with defeat and resignation, acquiescing to her over the phone. She had barely heard her partner’s words, the din of that particular party had been so loud. But all too clearly, she could remember what Zora had said. “It’s our anniversary. I thought…” She thought. And the violet-eyed girl hadn’t. Meenah hadn’t thought to spare a moment to remember the significance of that day, then, and had opted instead to, yet again, join her friends for a night out instead of the girl on the other end of the line. And that had been the end of her line, their line._

_Countless moments of promises made and promises broken, that night was, in all likelihood, the straw that broke the camel’s back. The drop of water in the bucket of their relationship before the dam began to burst under the weight. And now, she was drowning, thoroughly numbed through as she fumbled desperately for the words to express her regret, her gratitude, her remorse so deeply felt her very bones ached because of it. But none came, and she could only lurch forward, hands reaching for her partner._

_When fingers settled against her arm, part of Zora wanted to accept the touch, the feel of trembling digits moving over her skin evident even through layers of leather and linen. There was no denying the anguish, the preemptive grief shining through in every line of the violet-eyed girl’s form and her face. But all the same, the frustration, the misgiving and doubt that had relentlessly eaten away at the foundations of their relationship over the past few months since that night reared its head. If she was being honest with herself, she’d wholeheartedly admit that yes, she loved this hot mess, this absolute disaster in the making of a girl before her. But Meenah was exactly that - a hot mess and walking disaster who hadn’t shown any appreciable effort in breaking away from her bad habits. Promises broken just as easily as they’re made weren’t worth the breath with which they were spoken. She shifted away, drawing back from the her partner’s touch as she steeled herself, even as her heart sank into her stomach._

_“Please…” Meenah was begging now, not quite but very nearly on her knees. She choked back a sob. “I… I can’t..”_

_Zora shook her head. “Meenah, don’t... don’t..” a knot swelled in her throat as she spoke the words. “I’m doing this for your own good-”_

_“Zora...”_

_Moisture gathered on her lashes, awe as much resentment making the heat flushing her face that much hotter, making the prickling behind her eyes that much harder to ignore. Meenah was saying her name, calling out, crying out her proper name with... it was tenderness. Desperation, reverence, affection so warm and so inviting what she hadn't felt in months from the violet-eyed girl beginning to whittle away at her resolve. And it very nearly did. But in the silence of a moment, she understood, saw realization dawn in those violet eyes she’d once loved so well, and still did. That was the issue, wasn’t it? Time and time again, over the past near half-year, the violet-eyed girl had broken her heart like she had her promises, with unwitting cruelty, not willful malice. Meenah had broken her heart because she was… Meenah. Because the violet-eyed girl was who she was. Zora shook her head. She wouldn’t accept it. She couldn’t. Not anymore. Her hands, gentle but firm against the violet-eyed girl’s shoulders trembled when her once-love’s touch moved to her cheek, familiar and warm brown fingers brushing away her tears._

_“We can’t… we can’t keep going on like this.” the dark-haired girl choked out, each word a dagger gouging both her heart and her partner’s. But the pain, she could live with. Had been living with, and would no longer. “I love you. But I can’t…” Tears spilled out of the corners of her eyes and streamed down her cheeks as forced the words out. “I can’t keep going on like this.”_

_“...” Singly, Meenah heard each word, as a hammer striking down the final nails in her not-so-proverbial coffin._

_“I’m sorry, but we’re through.”_

_One last resigned smile was all Zora gave before stepping back and turning away. Leaden feet carried her away from the violet-eyed girl. But each step, oddly enough, lightened the burden that had insinuated itself onto her shoulders, dragged her heart down through briar and mud for the months leading up to this moment. And with each step, she found herself moving faster, surer, with purpose and resolve blossoming after weeks of agonizing over the end. But this was, for her, she was sure, a new beginning. With that, she left as a storm, tears unshed, an eye of rising calm at the center of it all._

_Meenah, however was nothing of the sort. Neither calm, nor furious, but numb. Chilled through and hollowed out, save for the despair of loss bleeding out from the void in the center of her chest growing larger with each passing second. And as they drew on, in that moment, each one felt an eternity. All the violet-eyed girl could feel, aside from the cold, was heat. The heat warming her face, the blistering of tears unshed behind her eyes, both belying the tempest roaring between her ears. It was only distantly now that she heard the raucous of the party, the static chorus of her friends cajoling and debauching themselves, ignorant of her loss, the self-directed loathing rising up to fill her from her toes to her furthest extremities. And that wasn’t even taking into account the sheer emptiness following in its wake as she stood, slumped in silence. Not bodily, even if her voice couldn’t come, just then, but deeper. For it all, the static filling her head, the wetness gathering behind her eyes, the cold, the heat, the tempest and storm, the alcohol still surging through her veins, Meenah could only capitulate. Overwhelmed and pushed beyond the boundary in so little time, the violet-eyed girl fell into oblivion, and realization._

_Zora, the light of her life, her moon and stars, was gone, spirited away by the malevolent specter of habit. Her habits, her person, her choices, Meenah had none to blame but herself for chasing away the one person who had meant the world to her a hundred times over. She had been loved, and she was still, but she couldn’t help wonder, now. Her fault, and solely, inimitably, impossibly. She’d been undeserving of love to begin with. Then, and especially now.. And so, heedless of the crowd beginning to close around the wake of the dark-haired girl’s departure, Meenah wept in new silence._  
____

No silence greeted Meenah’s ears this time around. Not with the lips moving against her own, soft and warm and sweet, impossibly inviting. But despite her efforts, and Ariana’s hands roving beneath her shirt with inimitable care and tenderness, the sensation did little more than stir discomfort in Meenah’s breast. Gooseflesh broke out over her arms and ice crept up her spine. The knot in her ribs twisted tighter and tighter with each of gentle push of Ariana’s lips against her own, each moan that tumbled into the growing chasm between them. And Meenah couldn’t help but remember the last time they did this, the way she’d last kissed Zora.

It was a night she could only dimly recall, and only because she was drunk again. But she could feel it keenly, the lingering spark between herself and her once-love that guttered out with each successive drink, each press of her lips against Ariana’s more heated than the last. Now, despite herself, the kiss became lively, impossibly vivacious and spirited. And the voices that had so assailed her were back in full force, bringing fear to surge through her, make her heart lurch in her chest. _Betrayal_ , they screamed. She didn’t want to forget Zora yet. Yet all the same, Meenah found herself screwing her eyes shut, and willing herself forward to return this girl’s ministrations because she owed Ariana that much.

And to her surprise, it worked.

By sheer force of will, and by some sort of miracle, warmth gave way to fire, even if it was tentative. The screaming in her head quieted, the knot in her chest loosened enough that she could breathe, and her voice returned to her as the seconds drew on, as she lost herself to that heat. Meenah moaned, and found herself returning more and more of Ariana’s efforts. With all the finesse and skill she could bring to bear, she returned Ariana’s touch, her fingers moving over skin warmed by the late afternoon sun. But again, she lost herself - her control. Zora’s name fell from her lips before she could stop herself.

The world crumbled down around her shoulders when Ariana broke contact.

But the anger in her eyes, the fire and steel she’d expected, didn’t come. Ariana’s trickling words did become a deluge, however, a torrent of confusion and rushed apologies. Meenah stared, unsure of what to make of her new flame’s sudden recalcitrance, her reluctance. And despite all the turning, the dizzying revolutions of her mind as she struggled to puzzle out their meaning, the way Ariana stormed off definitely had her attention. Like the wave that rolled through the crowd as she made her exit, cold rolled through her form, reaching to the very tips of her fingers and toes for a long moment. Meenah’s thoughts turned back to the way she’d been - high in her tower and resentful of her friends, torn between guilt and nursing the thorns Zora had left in her heart.

For a brief moment, Meenah looked on, lost. It wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling, she’d admit. But the fact didn’t make it hurt any less. If anything, it hurt more. The way Ariana left a path of confused partygoers in the wake of her retreat was a mirror image of _her_. Of the way _Zora_ had left her. It was a mirror image of her failures and her inadequacies, coming back in force to haunt her. And they were plenty, Meenah knew that better than anyone else. And she couldn’t help but swirl in the eddies, alone again and adrift on a sea of faceless strangers. But a dam inside of her broke. Cold gave way to rushing warmth. Hope. She had a name, a face, she had _eyes_. Blue like the sea on a clear day. And for what must have been a record number in so short a time, Meenah smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all enjoyed reading that lovely bit of angst as much as I enjoyed writing it. It was actually part of a different section of this fic. But some things happened, Meenah hit me over the head and demanded character development, and well, the rest is history.
> 
> As always, kudos and comments appreciated :)


	4. Bright Eyes

For all the adoration Aranea held for the autumn season, the delight she took in getting to bundle up in sweaters, scarves, and bonnets - the relish she felt in finally wearing clothes that didn’t leave so much of her skin bare could not outweigh how little she cared for what the season brought. A new school year meant having to suffer through a renewed gauntlet of salacious gazes and lascivious intent hiding behind insincere smiles, a fresh hell of enduring stares that would linger just the littlest bit too long on the slope of her chest or the juncture of her thighs thinly concealed by taut, dark cloth. Nothing could underscore how little she cared for all the countless number of boys who would doubtlessly leer at her, who would make her feel like meat in a butcher’s display. It was even worse this year - as a transfer student, she was sure she stood out twice as much.

The trepidation she felt as she made her way across campus wasn’t helped by how lost she knew she looked. Neither did the sprawling grounds nor the buzzing clusters of teenagers, who for all the world looked perfectly at home chatting with each other - both only made the growing tightness in her chest worse. The former emphasized the intimidation she felt, the latter was a too-blunt reminder that she was new, that she had no friends here. She had neither anyone to confide in, nor would there be anyone who would come to her rescue if a boy were to get handsy or too bold, and contemplating the fact made her stomach tie itself into uncomfortable knots. The low thrum of the conversations spinning around her grew to a deafening drone and her vision shrank to two pinpoints until she was seeing nothing at all, just staring blankly ahead.

She made her way forward through the crowds, suddenly numb and detached from the world around her, until her face’s abrupt collision with a broad and flat chest crystallized the lump of nervousness swelling in her throat. The rushed apology she gave was met by a smile too wide to be completely innocuous. A pair of beady little eyes flit from the student handbook cradled between her slightly trembling fingers to her face, then down to her chest, and back up again where they held her gaze. She couldn’t help but lower her eyes when the stranger stepped forward, further obscuring her path. After a beat, he spoke.

“Hey. I’m Kyle. What’s your name?”

Aranea inwardly groaned. The last thing she wanted to do in that moment was start a conversation, and least of all with some random boy. She was running late enough as it was - homeroom was going to start in little less than fifteen minutes, and if the map in her handbook was anything to go by, the administration office she was looking for was some distance away. And though she didn’t see it, the slight droop of his smile at her silence was something she felt too keenly, sending subtle frisson of fear up her spine as he moved closer. Why wasn’t he looking away?

“You must be new here, right?” He continued, gesturing vaguely to the booklet in her hand before presenting his own.

An all too easy-sounding laugh tumbled into the widening chasm of silence between them. She nodded, if only to put herself at ease, and reluctantly grasped his hand. He grinned wider.

“Yeah, I figured. The campus is pretty confusing, right?”

She nodded again. Though her own hand was clammy, she could still feel the moist warmth of his. She moved to step around him, immediately pulling it out of his grasp as gently as she could manage. Aranea desperately willed him to go away, clutching her handbook to her chest as she stepped back.

“I’m fine. I mean - I don’t need any help.” She said tentatively. There was nothing to be done about the nervousness in her voice, and instead, she moved to push past him.

“Are you sure? The handbook map doesn’t really work, in my experience. Could not for the life of me figure that shit out when I was new.”

He blocked her way forward again and gave her that same too-wide smile. As before, it failed to soothe her nerves, however much that might have been its intent. There was something more, though, something incredibly off-putting in his eyes that spoke volumes about the motivation behind his offer of aid. 

“Maybe I could show you around, give you a tour?” he insisted.

"She ain't interested, _Kris_." A voice from behind him cut in.

Aranea almost missed the way he jerked as though snapping out of a trance, so surprised was she by the sudden interruption. The voice’s owner approached, flanked on one side by another boy who held a second girl's hand. And her heart lurched. The smiles either wore bespoke a kind of subtle and unforced confidence, a curious mirror of what Kyle himself formerly wore. The lead - the speaker, sidled closer, grabbing Kyle’s arm and slipping her own through his. His posture, once tall and straight, was visibly off-balanced by her abrupt entrance into the space of their interaction. And In place of his former certainty and supreme self-confidence, his arrogance, were a nervousness and anxiousness that matched Aranea's own. The girl pulled him even lower before continuing.

"What did I say about messing with the new kids?" She asked, voice low, smoky, and sharp. Her eyes were hard, and glittered with anger towards the boy.

"Oh for fuck's sake, Peixes.” he bit out defensively. “I wasn’t doing anything. Just talking-"

Her fingers brushed along the edge of his cheek as she jerked him closer, bringing his face down to just inches away from her own. The Peixes girl tipped her head in her direction.

"If I ask her she's gonna say the same thing, right? Because you were just talking, and not doing what i think you were doing, right?"

When he couldn't immediately answer, she shoved him bodily back. "That's what I thought," her arms casually dropped to her sides as she stepped between them. "Get the fuck outta here before I beat your greasy ass."

Kyle, to Aranea's utter astonishment, scrambled away as the other girl bid. She looked up properly at the three new arrivals as the tension in her form bubbled away. Though she saw little of the other two, the Peixes girl's back filled her vision. A familiar pair of thick braids hung down to just above the curve of her bottom and lead up to the base of her skull where they branched out into cornrows that lined either side of her head. She couldn't help but blanch when the girl turned to face her, too taken by her gaze. A stunning pair of red-violet, almost pink eyes stood out from a soft brown complexion, and gleamed with concern. Violet… she’d thought them amber when she last saw them, lit up beneath halogen. Her heart thundered in her chest.

"You okay?" the girl asked.

Her voice, in stark contrast to the smouldering rage with which she spoke to the recently-departed Kyle, was now warm, if not gentle. And Aranea, for her part, couldn’t distinguish the sudden onset of butterflies in her stomach from the sound of her heartbeat roaring in her ears.

“Y-yeah.. I’m.. hi..” Aranea stuttered. She just looked on, smiling more than a little dumbly at the girl and her friends, mostly deaf to what they were saying and unaware of what came out of her own mouth. When the Peixes girl laughed, a rich full sound ending with a little snort she couldn’t help but find oddly endearing, she laughed softly in turn. 

“Well, that certainly explains why she bumped into Kyle.” the other girl chimed in.

“Come on, babe. That isn’t grounds for anything.” The boy beside her returned merrily.”Especially if she pleads the fifth. Right, Miss..uh..?” He gestured towards her.

At that, Aranea returned to Earth, the implication of what they were saying starting to sink in. Her cheeks flushed with heat as she desperately backpedaled, denying what they said as she vigorously shook her head.

“N-no! I’ve never even - I’m not... I mean…!” she couldn’t help but shrink into herself as the group continued. Her gaze fell.

“Mmm, yes.. Loss of focus, spacey, increased heart rate..” rattled off the other girl.

“Oohh, yeah. I see it now. Breathlessness too.” her partner added somberly.

“Alright, that’s enough you guys,” Peixes cut in. “You’re gonna scare her away.”

When she felt a gentle hand brush against her arm, Aranea looked up. Her savior was smiling down at her. “You’re looking for Central Administration, right?” She nodded. “Big building with the clock. Can’t miss it. The office you’re looking for is on the second floor.”

With that, Peixes stepped away, and gestured to her friends. “You’re gonna want to hurry.” she called back, before jogging off.

Aranea stood dumbstruck, thoroughly confused until she checked her watch - 7:53. She had a little under seven minutes to conduct her business and make it to homeroom.

“W-Wait..!” She called after the retreating trio. Only the Peixes girl looked back. “What’s your name?”

“Meenah.” The violet-eyed girl said as she flashed Aranea a smile. “Meenah Peixes.”  
____

“Meenah Peixes.” Aranea spoke under her breath. She rolled the words on her tongue as her mind wandered. That was the name of the girl who’d saved her from the boy who had accosted her on the first day. Meenah Peixes, with the violet eyes, braids down to the small of her back and a smile that had been the subject of both her dreams and waking moments, not for the past few days, but for the past few months. The girl whose face could turn from a mask of barely constrained fury to a beacon of heart-melting warmth with a quirk of her mouth. After all this time, after she’d so abruptly left that party in June, had so abruptly left that girl that one summer evening, she finally had a name. 

A soft heat swelled in her stomach at the thought, until a low, dejected sigh passed her lips as she glanced up at the clock. She still had twenty minutes until first recess. She turned her attention back to the teacher droning on about the Battle of Agincourt at the head of the classroom. But all the same, her thoughts wandered. Aranea had not seen anything of Meenah since that day at the quad. She’d asked around, of course, but what she heard worried her. Nearly everyone she’d asked had told her to stay away. And Kris’s reaction to just talking with the girl - it accorded well with what people had said. As she began putting her things away, she recalled one short conversation that had given her yet more to think about.

_“Meenah Peixes?” The girl began tentatively. “I’ve.. never, like, actually talked with her, personally. She seems cool enough, though. Not exactly friendly, I guess that’s just because of her personality. But she’s nice enough, I guess. She’s upfront, she doesn’t mess with people unless they deserve it. She doesn’t take shit from anyone. And if you ask, she’s willing to help. Not a lot of guys like her because she’s just so… in your face if you really piss her off. And I guess guys just generally do that.”_

_“She doesn’t like boys?” Aranea asked. It made sense. The incident with Kris was evidence enough for the fact - it was fury, an undertone of disgust along the lines of indignation, with which she spoke to the boy from her first day, rather than outright malice or malevolence. But it was that quickness to defend, that burned Meenah’s eyes into her memory, the warmth she - a relative stranger, had been treated with that sparked in her a not-so-idle desire to meet Meenah again. She worried at her lower lip - surely if Meenah was a student here, they would have met each other again by now? So why hadn’t they?_

_“No. No, I mean… like i said, she doesn't take shit from anyone, and it’s like, if you’re a guy and you mess around, she’s gonna go off in your face twice as hard. But if you’re, like, nice, a genuinely decent person, then you’re fine. But that’s kind of a moot point with you though.” the girl responded with a smile._  
____

Aranea turned the girl’s words over in her mind as she made her way to the cafeteria. She took no heed of the surging throng of students flowing out of classrooms heading out for lunch, too focused on her thoughts. A zero-tolerance policy for ‘boys just being boys’, outspoken almost to the point of being brash, but not exactly disrespectful. From what she could tell, Meenah valued good conduct and manners, but she wasn’t exactly approachable. And rather difficult to find, it seemed. A firm back bumping against her arms had her books fall to to the floor and pulled her out of her musing. She crumpled to the ground in a mess of limbs, bag straps and what felt like the beginnings of a bruise forming on her backside. “O-ow…”

“Oh shit, sorry-” Aranea rose with a start. That voice… was it..?

“Here.” a set of slender brown fingers tipped with hot pink nails brushed over her own as Aranea picked up one text off the floor. She looked up. Violet eyes and that same full-lipped smirk set in a face that made her heart flutter when the image found its way into her thoughts. But this was no simple memory, nor a summer daydream. She felt very real and very warm fingers against hers.

“Meenah..” Aranea whispered, almost reverently.

“Yeah..?” the girl in question replied, somewhat confused.

Meenah plucked a few more books from the floor and handed them to the blonde. It wasn’t until she saw the girl’s face that a memory clicked, somewhere between recently, and what felt a lifetime ago. The last time she saw those eyes, they looked to be on the verge of tears. Nothing of the sort marred their color this time. Blue like the edge of the sky at sunset, blue like the sea on a clear day, shone brightly from behind a pair of wire-framed glasses. She spoke. “You’re that girl from-”

“Thank you!” the girl blurted out. Crimson blossomed in her cheeks as the blonde continued to speak. “F-For saving me, I guess, the other day. I was late to homeroom, but that was his fault and not yours and it’s okay because i got a pass from the main office and..”

Meenah just knelt there, mouth slightly agape. The girl’s words were too rushed for her to make any sense of them, but she couldn’t help the smile that spread over her lips from ear to ear. The same slight crease of worry on her brow, at once familiar and alien, the same small, nervous grin - all of it was eclipsed by a soft, melodious voice and a pair of blue eyes impossibly deep like the sea she loved and knew so well. Staring into those eyes, for some strange reason, she felt the warmth of a childhood spent by the waterfront, a feeling of home she’d last experienced more than a month ago, on one June evening.

“..and stuff, so... uhm, yeah. I just.. really want to thank you for what you did that day. Maybe like, with a cake or something? Not like, a big sheet cake or a round one just a s...small cake?. A cupcake or something like, pastry-sized, maybe a slice if that’s okay with you…? Or maybe just… uhm, coffee….” Aranea’s stuttering words trailed off. An instinctive apology for her starry-eyed incoherent babbling hung heavy on her tongue as she worried at her lower lip. She was so nervous, and Meenah’s slightly-open mouthed stare didn’t help things. “Or not. I… I should just-”

“Yeah! I mean,” Meenah began, quick to reassure the blonde. Too quick, she couldn’t help but think. All her not-so-quiet hard-won confidence was gone, replaced by a skittish feeling she couldn’t, at the moment, quite place. But all the same, she fixed the girl with a genuine smile. “D’you wanna get out of here?”

Aranea blinked. “W-what?”

“Do you want to get out of here? With me?” Meenah repeated. She pushed the last of the blonde’s books into her arms before taking her hand. A giddy feeling fluttered in her chest when she nodded, and immediately she began weaving through the lunchtime crowd. Sparks shot up her arm at the contact, and another memory came tumbling loose. 

“W-wait, now?”

“Yeah!” Meenah enthusiastically replied, pulling the hapless girl along.

“But classes aren’t over. Wait..! W-where… where are we going?” Aranea wailed as they hurried across the quad. Her books were beginning to slip out of her arm and she was starting to lag behind the violet-eyed girl. “Meenah…!”

“Out.” was all she received in reply.

“What?”

Meenah turned back to face her, then, lips curled into a beaming smile. “We’re going out.” She explained as she adjusted the other girl’s hold on her books, and took a few out of her arms, before taking hold of the girl’s hand again. “Now come on!”

Aranea could only follow along, more than a little confused. Not once in the entirety of her academic career had she cut class. But the fact didn’t deter her in the least, nor did the specter of her mother’s voice, reprimanding her in her head. A growing sense of adventure, more than any kind of apprehension at cutting class, made her heart pound. Meenah ushered her into what she assumed was her car, and tossed her bookbag into the back. And as the top folded away and the wind began blowing through her hair, the giddiness bubbling in her chest rose to its peak. She let loose a full, euphoric laugh as they sped out of the parking lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have Kyle described in my notes as 'a horrible monster - a perfectly unremarkable teen boy who can't take a hint'. On the mark, yes/no?
> 
> Comments and kudos appreciated :)


	5. Coffeeshop Fanfiction AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obligatory self aware chapter, even if this whole thing is just me being indulgent. Also coffee shops! Yay!

_The rich taste of chocolate lingered on her tongue, twisted into a faint tartness she could only assume was raspberry. The cake itself was sinfully moist but improbably light, accented by the delicate sweetness of the vanilla bean fondant. Aranea couldn’t help but moan. Her cheeks grew rosy under Meenah’s stare, and the subtle twist playing at her lips, a seductive little half-smile that promised more if she would just venture a little further, had her squirming in her seat._

_“Good, right?” the other girl off-handedly quipped._

_It was a rhetorical question, of course. Meenah knew very well just what the cake tasted like. But still, she couldn’t completely keep the hunger she felt from making itself known. Not just for the cake, however. There was something enchanting about watching Aranea’s reactions to the pastry play across her face - surprise, at first, then reluctance, and finally surrender as the dark chocolate crumbled against her tongue and sent her soaring. And she was soaring, too. A smile broke out over her face at the thought as she regarded Aranea with a warm smile. An impish possessiveness seized her, then, as did a devious curiosity. What other expressions could she glean, what other faces did Aranea have to offer, she couldn’t help but wonder. In addition to, of course, that uninhibited delight that she made so very obvious. The pleasure Aranea took in the cake felt was plain to see. It wasn’t a lie, there wasn’t a trace of hesitation that remained after those first few bites. And it was clear she wanted more. Meenah laughed, and brought a forkful to her own mouth._

_It’s effect on her wasn’t as noticeable, of course. She’d enjoyed the cake before, in all likelihood, Aranea, couldn’t help but think. She could see the relish in Meenah’s eyes, however, not too dissimilar from her own. The cake was that good. But… There was no surrender there, however, as had been in her own. Rather, in its place was a defiant and gleeful hedonism, as though just with something so slight as a furrow of her brow she was claiming dominion over the sensation, as though it was hers to control. And Aranea swooned._

_The spell the cake had woven over her diminished as the last light of the sun setting in the distance struck the side of Meenah’s face. Gold filtered through the gauzy curtains and lit up the same pair of violet eyes that had haunted her for the better part of a week, for months. She’d seen how firmly and how harshly Meenah’s face could be set, but now, by the light of the sunset, she was reminded of how soft the girl could be. Everything she’d heard from others, all her worries of what Meenah could have been like, her fear, melted away into the pool of warmth in her chest. A content smile blossomed across her face. Her heart throbbed._

_Meenah regarded the girl’s smile with a quizzical furrow of her brow, and a kind of awe. Against the light of the setting sun, Aranea’s hair had taken on a familiar, glowing pale gold color. And her eyes, whose hue had not lost their allure in the time since they entered the cafe, stood out in stunning contrast. But most enticing of all, was the small crescent of a bashful smile curling across her lips. It was an expression of joy, simple and pure, and a breath of fresh air in a world where insincere and conniving smiles were the norm. A strange warmth welled in her chest. They’d exchanged a number of words in the past half hour, but she’d still only properly met Aranea today. And yet, it felt as though she’d known the girl all her life. And that, more than anything, terrified her. She could only give a smile of her own in return, as earnest and straightforward as she could manage. After a moment more of just silence and mutually adoring stares (she hoped), she spoke._

_“Are you free next Sunday?” Meenah asked._

_“Sunday, no. Saturday, yes.” Aranea replied. “What begs the question?”_

_“I want to do this…” Meenah gestured first to the half finished pastry and accompanying cups of tea between them, and then to the rest of the cafe. “..again. With you.”_

_Those words followed Aranea the entirety of her sojourn home._  
____

It was the same. A quirking of full lips, a sliver of teeth, but all the same, Meenah’s smile haunted her. The subdued electric feel of that afternoon stood out starkly in the ether of Aranea’s thoughts. Her face flushed with heat as the ghost of lips moved against her own, the memory of hands firm but welcome against her lips. The girl she’d met, so many months ago, and Meenah, who’d taken her out for an unforgettable afternoon - they were one in the same. And she reeled, a question gnawing at her now as she let her thoughts turn. The last time she’d seen Meenah before schoolday afternoon, was back in June, on the cusp of July and the girl had been plastered off her face. And worse still, if her memory was anything to go by, Meenah had said a name. Not hers, but the way she’d said it had given her pause enough that she’d left as a storm, without explanation.

Would their date today go similarly well, she couldn’t help but wonder. Who had that person been, that Meenah had said their name the way she’d had. Who were they, to her? Would she be forced to flee, to run like a princess once the proverbial clock had struck midnight? Aranea breathed. Uncertainty as much as hope hung heavy on her mind, and she studied her reflection in the mirror one last time, before shouldering her bag and heading out the door.  
____

“So…” Aranea began tentatively. “Where are we going?”

Meenah turned the car onto a connecting bridge. A series of buildings, irregularly shaped and jagged against the sky, loomed off in the distance. The subtle scent of saltwater tickled at her nose as they approached. “Do you like fish?” She asked. The confused quirk of the blonde’s brow only made her smirk grow.

When Aranea saw the building in the distance, it clicked. “The Isla Atlantica Marine Life Sanctuary?” Her eyes went wide. “Meenah, no.… this is too much. Standard admission’s at least eighty-!“

Meenah just shook her head, cutting off all of her protests as she pulled into the parking complex. One beep later, the toll bar rose, and she drove in deeper, her grin still in place as she spoke. “Not today it isn’t. Admission’s free on Saturdays. And besides, we’re not doing regular admission.” She assured the girl by her side as she maneuvered her car into a reserved parking space by the elevator.

Aranea closed the passenger side door with a confused and nervous expression. “Oh. then… what are we-”

“VIP tour, kind of.” Meenah replied simply. “So, you’ve heard of this place?” A kind of smugness and pride slipped into her voice at the question. For all the disdain she held for her mother’s borderline sanctimonious preaching and erratic helicopter parenting, a love for all things sea life was one of the few things they shared. That Aranea positively regarded their passion with reverence boded well.

“Well, yeah. The Sanctuary’s one of the biggest draws about Isla Atlantica. And the One Earth Foundation is how I’m finishing out school, um, here.” Aranea explained. After they stepped into a gilded elevator, she elaborated. “The Sanctuary’s one of the the reasons why we actually decided to apply for an international scholarship here.” she gave an embarrassed titter. “That and, um, my mum got sick of all the rain back home. So, uh, here we went.“

“What do you mean?” Meenah asked. She was no stranger to her mother’s brainchild. Neither was she unaware of how highly regarded the Sanctuary was, nor was she unfamiliar with the company’s prolific scholarship program, which was why there was such a high population of students on Isla Atlantica. She couldn’t puzzle out the relevance of Aranea’s comment about rain, nor why that skittish feeling endured in the back of her mind, as though something was just out of her recollection.

Aranea paused. “Oh, nothing. It’s… Mum’s just kind of.... Flighty, I guess. And prone to leaps of logic. She got this idea that if I study abroad, then I’ll become ‘more of a world citizen’.” 

As the blonde brushed a hand through her hair and gave an exasperated sigh, Meenah couldn’t help but look over and step closer. She slipped her hand into Aranea’s and gave the girl’s shoulder a gentle bump with her own. And when she tentatively returned the gesture in kind, before pulling her hand back to curl her arm around her elbow before continuing, she beamed.

“Never mind the fact that the school I was going to before had one of the most expansive international student programs in almost the entire city and a curriculum so well-regarded across the western hemisphere that it’s being used as a model for the EU’s education initiative.” Aranea continued.

Bemoaning a parent’s poorly thought-out decision seemed to be a pastime they both shared, it seemed. Meenah smirked. “Sounds fancy.”

Aranea wistfully shook her head, parsing her words before she continued. “It’s not… Well, kind of, but also not really? It’s odd. I… It’s school, you know? Whether it’s fancy or not isn’t something one really thinks about.”

“What was it like?” Meenah asked.

“Confusing. I mean, the classrooms themselves were amazing. State of the art facilities, a fully equipped gymnasium, huge library. Didn’t match the architecture, though, very neo-gothic. It was like something out of a trashy coming-of-age young adult urban fantasy novel, or some bizarre, pseudo-intellectual social commentary high school au fanfiction-er, transformative… work. Yeah.” Aranea just shrugged. Meenah laughed.

“That’s.... really specific.” she replied, smiling.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong. I love work that incorporates a social commentary aspect, but if it isn’t done well, instead of being endearing and witty, it comes off as pretentious and moralistic, you know?”

“Mm… yeah, kind of.” Try as she might, Meenah couldn’t keep the bemusement out of her face. She could just about see Aranea keeping herself up at night devouring some odd thousand words of fanfiction. She could also see Aranea writing exactly the kind of work she’d just criticized. Or if not that, then, for lack of a more appropriate word, smut. Meenah chuckled again.

“What..?” Aranea began, suddenly self-conscious. It dawned on her that she’d begun ranting about fanfiction, of all things, to the girl whose memory had kept her up for so many nights in the months leading up to the school year. And despite the fact, Meenah, for all purposes, was still somewhat of a stranger, and an enigma, not one of the girls from the Southeast End she’d so often chatted with about the adventures of a nigh-omnipotent time travelling figure or yet another Sondheim-esque historical reimagining of established history. She blushed violently, and curled into herself.

“I.. mm, have this cousin who’s into the same kind of thing - uh, ‘transformative work’, I mean.” Meenah insisted consolingly. “She’s a little younger than you though. Not.. not that age has anything to do with it. But it’s… you kind of reminded me of her, just then.”

Aranea blanched. She had no idea what to think about being compared to a younger cousin. Did it mean that Meenah thought she was immature? Or naive? Or that her interest was strictly platonic and affection familial?

“Her whole face just lights up and she just goes into the longest, well, I shouldn’t call them rants, but…” Meenah explained. “She’s just… it’s really cute when she starts gushing about that sort of thing. Like, you can see how much it means to her.” She looked over at Aranea, whose face was redder than she’d ever seen.

Ah. Meenah thought her interest in… transformative work.. was cute. Attractive, maybe? Something to take pride in? “Cousin on your mother’s or, um, father’s side?” She asked, voice soft and almost quiet.

Meenah, for her part, quirked her head. “Mother’s… why?”

“Oh, no… no… um, particular reason..” Aranea stammered out. For all her effort at keeping a straight face, she was sweating bullets.

“Mm, trying to be slick and keep me hanging, hmm? I see how it is…” the other girl teased. She nosed at Aranea’s hair, and glared at an elderly man who was frowning at them. One hand alighted on the blonde’s hip, before drawing back to take a handful of her bottom.

Aranea yelped in surprise, and gave an embarrassed squeak “M-Meenah..!”

“Wanna give that crusty old geezer a show?” Meenah asked, voice low and husky as she crooned into Aranea’s ear. Her hand on the blonde’s bottom did not move, but simply rested there. An unspoken promise of more lingered.

“Show?!” Aranea cried out again, incredulous.

“Yeah. A show. A production, bona fide or otherwise.” Meenah replied. “We can fake it till we make it, or you could let me do the work and just react.”

“And just why would I want to.. put on a show for some stranger, praytell?” Aranea bit back defensively, all previous timidity in her demeanor starting to bleed away. Her own hand fallen to where Meenah’s rested just over her bottom. She was no stranger to the game of Chicken, and she hoped to hell that such was all this little exchange was.

“Don’t you want to stick it to the man? Make a statement about personal agency in a society designed to your disadvantage?”

At that, Aranea couldn’t help but internally seethe. It was the kind of rhetoric her mother often employed - contentious, but nothing she could find fault with. It was a broad and vague enough statement to be perfectly unproblematic, but all the same, the fault in it lay in the means it implied - disregard of latent consequences, and vagueness. But whereas she couldn’t rise to the challenge so oft proposed by her mother, she could very much rise to this one. Tentatively, she pulled back, her hand shifting from behind them to the front, just over Meenah’s crotch, and her fingers curled against the fabric of the girl’s pants. A subtly applied pressure skating upward, until she was essentially feeling her up, and no more. As casually as she could manage, she teased the tips of her fingers against the inseam of her pants. A manic little gleam in Aranea’s eyes made plain her intent, but from the angle, she was sure Meenah couldn’t see, neither it nor the decidedly brazen quirk of her lips.

Meenah, despite her impassive exterior, was blushing like mad on the inside. She didn’t know what to make of the pressure against her crotch, nor Aranea’s smile. And when she moved to capture the blonde’s lips in a kiss, her confusion only grew. Aranea turned away.

“No kissing..” she whispered as she turned her eyes towards the audience to their little show, the heat in her gaze evident even from this distance. She strode forward, pulling Meenah along literally by the front of her pants, past the disapproving old man. Their gait was sure and unflinching, until they rounded a corner. And she found herself pinned to the wall by a knee between her thighs and a pair of palms placed firm against the wall on either side of her head.

“What…” Meenah began haltingly, red-faced. “What the hell was that?”

“I could ask you the same thing!” Aranea bit back, equally flustered, voice a low but forceful whisper. “Why’d you just…” Her cheeks flushed red in short order as she said the words. “..grab my...arse, like that?”

When Meenah said nothing, and moved again for a kiss, she shied away and spoke. “I-I meant whatsaid..” Aranea grit out, capturing the violet-eyed girl’s face in her hands and keeping her still, before letting her grip loosen as Meenah pulled back. 

Meenah, for her part, was spinning, reeling for the sense of deja vu taking hold of her head. The hands holding her face were excruciatingly familiar, but despite her best efforts at remembering, she couldn’t place them. “Because you’re a goddamned tease.” she hissed. Heat grew steadily in her gut, until it became a conflagration she could little else but only try to ignore. Her hands trembled against Aranea’s hips.

“Deal with it.” Aranea returned evenly.

As though reading the girl’s mind, Meenah surged forward, pinning her wrists between their stomachs with one hand as she turned the other girl’s face towards her own with her free hand and bore down. She stopped an inch shy of Aranea’s lips, her grip and position remained firm, but she didn’t move beyond just holding her against the wall. And she couldn’t help but stop and take in the other girl’s expression as her chest seized with a confusing combination of guilt and want.

Aranea worried at her lower lip and refused to meet Meenah’s gaze. The temptation to surrender was there, but she couldn’t bring herself to act. Her wrists were relaxed in Meenah’s grip, and her hips were still against the girl’s knee. Her breath had hitched, began coming in labored pants, and her cheeks were suffused with color. But she stubbornly kept her eyes down, trying to keep herself from blurting out what was hanging at the front of her mind - that this wasn’t the first time the girl before her had held her so close. Her heartbeat pounded impossibly loud in her ears.

“H-half the fun’s in the chase.. a-and all that..” she insisted.

“Chasing and being chased back.” Meenah replied. She let go of the blonde’s wrists after a moment more, and when Aranea just slipped her hands around her waist, she slumped against her form, returning the embrace. Her fingers drew up Aranea’s spine, again at once familiar and maddeningly alien, before curling into the fabric of the blonde’s cardigan as she loosed a tired sigh. 

Aranea’s hands, meanwhile, moved higher, up to the base of Meenah’s neck, where her fingers traced lazy circles over and across to her ears. She pressed a tentative kiss against Meenah’s cheek. “Everything in due in time.” she paused, slipping her arms around the girl’s neck. “All good things in life are worth the wait, love.”

At that word, ‘love’, Meenah’s resolve dissipated, but her desire remained. As waves breaking against a shore, a flurry of emotions surged within her, and she couldn’t make sense of any single one. Save safety. Tied into that sense of safety were a fear and worry she didn’t dare delve into, and the itch of recognition. Meenah could do little else but just hold the girl in her arms tighter and bury her face into her shoulder.

“Okay?” Aranea asked tentatively. When Meenah mumbled a soft yes against her skin, she let her eyes slip closed. Her erratic heartbeat slowed to a crawl, and she gasped. It wasn’t just hers she could feel - not one, but two rhythms falling into sync. Their breaths fell together, until the only things she was aware of was the warmth of a body pressed flushed against hers, the gentle pressure of Meenah’s chest against her own, and the soft thumping of their hearts in her ears.

For all her effort, tears spilled out of the corners of her eyes. Meenah felt that warmth keenly, but there was something there. A ghost of summer heat she couldn’t place, and ghosts of eyes a shade of violet differing from her own, of sweet-smelling hair undercut by a note of smoky heat rose unbidden and faded away in the span of a moment - the family she chose, her friends. But in Aranea’s arms she found what she couldn’t find even among her closest friends - the feeling of home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cookies to anyone who can tell me where the title's from, and what Nea's referencing in her little rant. Cake to anyone who can puzzle out the identity of Meenah's mystery cousin.
> 
> Kudos and comments appreciated :)


	6. An Interlude

A pair of hazel eyes, cast jade green beneath the fluorescent lights of a sterile bathroom, glanced over towards the dark skinned girl preening in front of one of the mirrors. Curiosity and concern for the change in her friend’s demeanor warred against a respect for her privacy. If Meenah wanted to spill the metaphorical beans, she would have. And it seemed that she had a mind to, but not the conviction to do so quite yet. The latter bit kept her hopeful that it at least was something positive. There was no outward source of pressure keeping her lips sealed, as far as she could discern, but of their group of friends, Meenah had the best poker face.

Curiosity won out in the end. It wasn’t unreasonable to simply inquire, after all.

“What’s going on?” Porrim asked bluntly. After a moment further of silence, the other girl spoke.

“What do you mean?”

“You haven’t been sitting with us at lunch, I’ve only seen you like, twice this week, and we haven’t talked at all.” She stepped closer and met her friend’s eyes in the mirror. “Meenah, come on.”

“Nothing’s going on.” Meenah replied casually.

“Everyday after school for the past week, like clockwork, Cronus checked your parking space. Empty.”

“So?”

“So, something is obviously going on because you almost never leave right after school.” Porrim insisted. Accusations, on the other hand, especially ones without sufficient evidence, had to be some kind of unreasonable. She chastised herself mentally, but continued with her line of questioning. “Where have you been?”

Meenah responded with a pointed query of her own. “Why are you being so nosy about this?”

“You haven’t been talking to us at all-”

“Mm, yeah because it’s totally impossible for me to have a life outside of talking to you and that Danny Zuko wannabe.” she snipped back.

At that, Porrim couldn’t help but snort. Though she adored Cronus, comparing him to a fictional greaser from a movie nearly a century old fit too well. “Come off it, you two are best friends.”

Meenah just sighed. It was true. Cronus was one of her oldest and closest friends. And though she hadn’t known Porrim anywhere nearly as long, she counted the girl a part of her limited inner circle. She turned towards the girl.

Porrim stared at her expectantly.

“Look,” Meenah began tentatively. The worry in her friend’s eyes was clear - it wasn’t some strange controlling impulse that motivated Porrim to conduct this interrogation. “I appreciate your concern, but it isn’t any of your business.” A slight smile spread over her face as she thought of Aranea. It didn’t escape the other girl’s notice, and Porrim returned the gesture in kind with a furrowing of her brow and a confused frown. “That said, if it makes you feel better, I’m not in trouble, and it isn’t anything bad.”

After a beat, Porrim spoke. “So, when are you going to introduce us to your mysterious new girlfriend?” She asked as she stepped up to the sink. She made a show of fussing with her bangs for a moment before turning towards Meenah. And for the way her friend immediately averted her eyes and turned away, made no move to deny the accusation, Porrim grinned. Jackpot. Her frown turned into a sly smile at the confirmation. For how well Meenah’s poker face generally worked, her tells were painfully obvious, if one knew where to look.

“You two have already met.” Meenah replied simply, after taking a moment to compose herself. It was true, technically. She and Cronus had met Aranea in person on the first day, though they might not have been yet formally introduced. She had an inkling as to how Aranea might react to her friends’ admirably relaxed attitude about all things sex and relationships - it was why their arrangement worked. But she wasn’t quite sure how they would react to someone not so.. initiated. The blonde exuded innocence. And Porrim, devastatingly gorgeous and terrifyingly experienced in such matters, would devour her whole, figuratively as well as literally. That, she knew all too well, having experienced the dark-haired girl’s appetite and prowess personally. Heat suffused her cheeks at the memory. Though she loved her friends dearly, Porrim was possessed of an overwhelming magnetism and the will to act on such an attraction irrespective of the consequences - it was the one thing she resented about the girl.

Meenah worried at her lower lip and stared into the mirror. If her friend and Aranea were to meet before they cemented a relationship, the girl would doubtlessly get swept up into the hedonistic intrigue of their lives, wrapped around one flawlessly manicured finger. It wasn’t something she dared risk.

Porrim, for her part, could only inwardly laugh. Meenah’s worries were plain to see on her face to her trained eyes.

“Sweetie…” She began with a gentle smile. “I am not some sex-crazed, nigh-insatiable seductress, despite all the evidence to the contrary.” she intoned with a half smile. It was true, technically speaking. Her stamina was, at best, admirable - not insatiable by any means; she didn’t actively seduce people for the sake of sex - she’d admit, it was an ego thing, a self-esteem thing if anyone wanted to get psychoanalytical; and she’d only ever gone all the way with one person, by her count - Cronus, who she was currently dating. She leaned against the counter and stared Meenah down. If anything, she was mono.. amorous? Albeit very experienced and knowledgeable. It was knowledge gleaned mostly from research and… experiments. Nonetheless, if anyone were to accuse her of being hellbound because she’d made peace with her sexuality and the confidence that had resulted from it, it’d be proven a skewed accusation by any definition. Of that, she was sure. 

Meenah just scoffed. She couldn’t help but feel indignant about the whole thing. Porrim had never been known for her subtlety, but so bold a statement was doubtlessly meant to aggravate her. It had to be. She swore under her breath.

“And even if I was, you know, some kind of nympho sex goddess,” at that, a frown broke over the Meenah’s face as she pointedly rolled her eyes, and Porrim returned the expression with a crooked and sly smile. Meenah would never live down what had gone unsaid between them - she’d never let her. She laid a tentative hand over her friend’s arm, then. “You’re my friend. I care about you, and that means I’d never steal someone out from under you, problematic notions of implied ownership of people aside.”

Porrim’s words had reassured her somewhat, but that wasn’t the issue. “I… I know you’d never do that on purpose. But, that’s not why i’m lowkey freaking out about this shit. It’s…” Meenah began, in an attempt to explain. She paused. “You are…”

“I am…?”

“You’re stupid hot, you’re smart, you’re experienced at… that, you’re nice, and you’ve got one hell of a personality.” Meenah’s hands clenched into fists against the counter, her voice growing strained and soft as she continued. “You’re perfectly fucking imperfect. You’re amazing.” the last part was intoned with a whisper. She trembled as a sticky cold curled in her gut and her vision became tinted with green. “How am I supposed to compete with that?”

Porrim stood back, stunned. Much of her friend’s diatribe had gone somewhat over her head, but the intent behind Meenah’s words had not, and she had no idea how to respond. She’d thought of herself as enviable and reveled in the fact. But to be regarded with jealousy, and by one of her close friends at that, her sharp tongue had been dulled by Meenah’s palpable growing anguish. She’d never known the girl to be particularly prone to such feelings - to be scared of loss because in all the time she’d known Meenah, the girl had always taken and given as good as she got, in both senses of the phrase.

“Meenah… where is this coming from?”

Meenah, for her part, just exhaled, a tired sigh that belied the worry she’d been consumed by for the past week. “This girl… she’s amazing. I.. don’t know what else to say. She isn’t… as drunk on life.. as you and the gang are, but all the same… she makes me feel alive.” in those eyes, in Aranea’s arms, she found home. But how to communicate this to her friend? “Safe. A harbor in the middle of a storm, if you wanna wax poetic or just.. fuck around. But.. yeah. I don’t want to lose what we have before it’s even started. And yeah, you might not mean to do… whatever, but…appeal isn’t something you can turn off.”

“Sweetie, she chose you. You say I’ve met her?” Meenah gave a noncommittal shrug, but nodded. “Well, there you go - she’s seen me, she’s met me, but she chose you. That has to count for something.” Porrim insisted. There was probably more to her worry, but she willed the other girl to understand - that whoever this girl was, she’d chosen Meenah in the end.

“Look, if you’re that worried about her meeting us, why don’t you see? Take her out and introduce us. Either she proves herself, um, loyal, and you’re worried for nothing or or you’re right to worry, and you’re justified in dumping her. I’ll be on my best behavior and make sure Cronus is the same.”

What Porrim said made sense, but it didn’t reassure her by any means. And Aranea, in whom she’d found a partner, Aranea who she desperately hoped would rise to be her lover, that potential relationship, she was hesitant to lose to a cold gamble. Reluctantly, she nodded, and acquiesced. “Fine. I’ll talk to her. Get back to you when we.. you know.” and with that, she left the bathroom, unwilling to return Porrim’s hopeful smile.  
____

Aranea bounded up to the violet-eyed girl with a beaming grin. It fell when she saw Meenah’s expression. “Meenah..? Meenah, what’s wrong?”

“Hey.. “ Meenah began hesitantly. Despite herself, she couldn't keep the worry out of her voice. “Can we.. talk? In private, I mean?”

Aranea was quick to lay her hands on her Meenah’s arm, and offered her a consoling hug. “Are you ok?” she asked.

Meenah returned the embrace, holding the girl tight against her chest. “Yeah, just… I’ve been thinking about some things. About .. this thing we…” She turned to Aranea. “About us.”

At that, Aranea paused. Her hand fell away, as her thoughts began turning, spinning faster than she could process. The tentative, fragile intimacy that had grown between them, unraveling before growing into something more. Was it because she hadn’t confessed? Did she horribly misconstrue the comfortable silence they shared at the end of that day, what they’d shared in June - comfortable for her, but gut-wrenchingly awkward for the violet-eyed girl. Aranea couldn’t help but think of the way Meenah had been, drunk and lonely, and in all likelihood still pining over an old flame. She gave a hesitant nod. “What… what about us?” she began tentatively. “I thought there was something…”

Meenah was quick to backpedal when she got the gist of what Aranea was saying, and caught her hand. “No! No.. I mean, yes. I felt it too, that. We’re… Yes, I still want this.. Between us. It’s just..that’s not what I wanted to talk about.” she wrapped her arms that much tighter around the Aranea before cupping her face in her hands.

“I just want.. My friends want.. To meet you.” She explained. The anxiety from her talk with Porrim had not abated. She was still reluctant to have Aranea meet her friends, but what she said stood out in her mind. If Aranea met her friends, she’d know if she had nothing to worry about, or if she was right. She stood to gain either a world of anxiety extinguished, albeit at the cost of losing her safe harbor, or the realization of her dreams of home.

Aranea blinked, and loosed breathed a sigh of relief. “I… of course! I would love to meet your friends.” it was something that had been weighing on her mind recently. Though it pained her to admit, she didn’t know much about Meenah outside of what she’d been able to infer, and what she’d seen when they’d first met. She was personable, possessed little patience for boorish conduct, especially from men. And then there was the issue of her previous partner. Someone who’d so thoroughly twisted themselves into her life that she mourned their loss still. But it wasn’t as if she could say the break up was recent, nor could say anything on the subject at all. And that thought bade her speak.

“That actually makes me wonder… Why haven’t I met them? Your friends, I mean.” she asked.

“Oh, they’re kind of… wild.” Meenah replied. “Not sure if you’re… ready for that level of crazy, I guess.”

It was true, if in part. One of her most glaring concerns about Aranea meeting her friends was how she’d react to them. She may as well have been living in a movie, considering the kind of shenanigans her friends regularly got up to. And that wasn’t even taking into account the lives they normally lead. Aranea, sedate and domestic, Aranea who’d raised such fuss over… well, that made sense. Aranea would have stood out like a sore thumb all the same, she was sure. But, the tact and foresight with which she conducted herself during the incident at Isla Atlantica made her reconsider, however. For all the likelihood that she would get swept up into the throes of the teenage hedonism with which she and her friends lived their lives, it was a growing possibility that Aranea would hold true, remain her home and port of call. 

Meenah stared into eerily familiar sea blue eyes, and saw only a rolling ocean. Even through the imagined haze she imposed over their color, Aranea’s eyes were steady and bright, and a small smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. The hours she’d spent as a child enraptured watching movies of glamorous twenty-somethings letting go of themselves in the party scene rose to the forefront of her mind. Amidst the images of locked lips, feverish hands brazenly moving over naked skin, fingers delving into the deep places of warm bodies, and the sudden wave of heat rushing down her spine at the thought, Meenah felt a possessive desire flare to life. Would she be able to lead the kind of life that had driven Zora away, she couldn’t help but wonder, beside Aranea? Or rather, would they lead that kind of life together?

The hesitation that had so troubled her in the bathroom with Porrim gave way to a morbid curiosity, and suddenly, the gamble she’d been terrified to make no longer seemed so unappealing. Anyone who’d mess with her girl would have to answer to her - inwardly she swore a vow to protect Aranea, even on her descent into that gleeful madness, the kind that so often gripped her peers. Aranea utterly drunk on life - it was something she wanted to see, and the desire to make such a reality made itself plain on her face.

Aranea couldn’t suppress the low shudder that rolled through her form when she looked into Meenah’s eyes, nor the subtle warmth that followed in its wake. There was a madness there that wasn’t just a moment before, and it both thrilled and terrified her. Crimson colored her cheeks as the seconds ticked on, and she averted her gaze. She grasped the girl’s hands.

“Meenah…” She whispered, voice suddenly soft. “You’re staring…” her fingers curled over the other girls, cool against the growing heat in her face. She made no move to pull Meenah’s hands away.

“The no-kissing thing…” Meenah began as she relaxed her hold. She rolled her hands and grasped Aranea’s, pulling them down to capture them in a gentle but firm grip before cupping her cheek. She leaned closer. “Does that still stand?”

“Uhm..” a storm of butterflies raged in Aranea’s stomach at the question. She could feel the stares of students behind her digging into her back. But the warmth coming off of the violet-eyed girl’s fingers wrapped around her own and tracing over her cheek, and Meenah’s face hovering mere inches from hers, were all she could process. The potential implications of the other girl’s question hung between them, pulling her mind into a fleeting daydream of full lips pressing against her own, and a sly tongue tracing the contours of her mouth, as it had so long ago. “I…”

She was pulled out of her reverie by the feel of those lips brushing against her hand. “Uhm…”

“When do you want to meet them?” Meenah asked softly. For all of her fantasies of debauching the blonde in the near future looming large, she could afford Aranea at least one measure of agency.

“W-when… when do you want me to meet them?” Aranea returned shakily.

“There’s… this party friday after this one. After First Homecoming. Do you want to go with me?”

“Party? As in…?” If there was any kind of wildness teenagers could get up to, a party fit the bill. A sliver of relief soothed the trepidation Aranea felt. If Meenah’s friends were just a partygoing crowd, then surely she’d be fine. She’d weathered her fair share of drunk boys and nights stolen, spent in the kind of euphoria only being young and reckless could bring.

“Mhmm. Teenage hedonism at its simplest.” If the fading crimson in her cheeks was anything to go by, a party was something Aranea could handle - a generous but forgiving enough trial by fire to initiate the girl into her inner circle. And Porrim had promised to behave and take care of Cronus, which meant two more people to keep her safe and make sure she had fun.

“Sure..!” Aranea paused, taking a moment to consider the logistics. There was one issue - transportation. She had no intention of taking a bus to wherever it was the party would be held. “I.. don’t have a ride, though.”

Meenah gave a thoughtful hum. “We’ll deal with it when the time comes, I guess.” A sly smile curled over her lips as she considered yet another opportunity to spend more time outside of school with the blonde - their date this evening. “Are we still on for tonight?” she asked.

“Of course.” Aranea thought back to when she’d first explored the area around her dorm complex, and the small beat up neon sign that had caught her eye. It was a jazz club owned and operated by a group of alums from the nearby university, and hosted in the gutted and refurbished remains of a rundown diner. Though she’d only taken a quick peek, what she had seen stuck in her brain; the interior was tastefully dim-lit, bare brick walls offset by a combination of prints and original paintings, a dark-stained hardwood counter behind which stood a fully stocked bar. It was something straight out of one of those indie romance films she loved, the kind defined by cinematography best described as the feeling behind a sleepy sunday morning cup of coffee. Perfectly whimsical and endearingly pretentious.

“You know, you still haven’t told me where we’re going.”

A cheeky smile found its way onto Aranea’s face. “My, how the tables have turned…” she purred. She couldn’t but loose a soft twinkling laugh at Meenah’s responding pout. “Do you like jazz?“

Meenah, offered a tentative nod. “Yeah, I guess…?”

There was less cheek in Aranea’s replying smileas she grasped Meenah’s hands and gave them a fond squeeze. “Mm, excellent. Pick me up at my place around 6-ish?”

“Uh, sure.”

“Alright.” She pecked Meenah’s cheek.”It’s a date.” and with that, Aranea left, positively floating down the halls to her next class.  
____

“You promise you’ll behave?” Meenah wearily asked.

Porrim could only laugh. Her friend’s worry had abated some, it seemed, but not quite enough. She nodded, giving the girl a reassuring bump of her shoulder. “I said I would, didn’t I? Do you not trust me?”

“I do. Just…” the thought of Aranea in that kind of environment made her think. More than anything, if she were to take the blonde to the homecoming afterparty, she wanted Porrim’s help. And not just hers, but Cronus’s as well. Meenah took a moment to break the situation down - Her friends would be meeting Aranea officially next friday at the homecoming afterparty.

“I don’t know how well she can handle herself in that sort of situation. I mean, I don’t think she’s like, a blushing virgin, but… yeah. You know how these things go.” Meenah couldn’t help but scowl as she continued. “And there’s no shortage of shitlords here.”

Porrim nodded. It was true - Meenah had needed to intervene in such a situation some few weeks ago, around the start of the semester. A second year student had been bothering a blonde girl who looked to be in their year academically, but had just transferred in. And the more she heard about Meulin’s situation, more warning bells went off in her head. There was indeed no shortage of ill-intending men among their peers. “I see. So… you want us on bodyguard duty?” she asked.

“Ehhh, kind of. Just… watch out for her. You don’t have to stick close, but if she stays with you guys, then all the better.”

She couldn’t help but interrupt. “You make it sound like you aren’t going to be there.”

“I will be. I just… want to make things clear, make sure we’re on the same page.” Meenah explained.

“Mm...fair, but… surely she can handle herself to some extent?”

She paused. It was likely, but she didn’t know for sure. She just gave her friend an ambivalent shrug. “Probably. Never hurts to be careful, though.”

Porrim ran a hand through her hair and stood contemplatively. After a moment, she spoke. “Alright. I’ll talk to Cronus. She better be really cute.”

At the implication, Meenah couldn’t help but bristle. “You said you’d behave!”

Porrim just laughed, drawing a finger along the other girl’s cheek down to the hollow of her throat. “Mhmm. Around her. Until we meet her, you’re fair game, though.” Lost for words, Meenah could only mutter under her breath as Porrim stalked away. A sly smile curled over her lips as she left.

Regardless of how attractive the girl was, the dark-haired girl mused, she had Meenah twisted into knots. Just who was this mystery girl, and how had she managed such? Above all else, this girl, who’d so tightly twisted herself into Meenah’s waking moments to such extent that she’d reduced the girl into a nervous mess genuinely piqued her curiosity. The idea of someone whose well-being had so… affected her friend’s peace of mind, it was a fascinating development, to say the least. Her thoughts sped in a thousand different directions, turning over what she’d learned. With a low hum, she strode off to her last class.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let it be said for the record that Porrim being an alleged 'nigh-insatiable seductress' is not why I consider her best girl.
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated, as always :)


	7. First Impressions

Aranea stood in front of the mirror, intensely scrutinizing her appearance. Her hair was finally hanging down in waves to frame her face after the solid hour of brushing she put it through. Her fringe, however, was still the same hopelessly uneven mess of fluff it had always been. The one pair of sheer tights she had that weren’t riddled with runs and ladders took her the better part of a half hour to find, as did the jumper whose color went with the dress she chose. Cool grey cable-knit wool stretched awkwardly over her shoulders and bunched up underneath her armpits. She couldn’t help but groan - it took nearly three hours to wrangle down her clothes and tame her hair, and still it felt as though it wasn’t enough.

“Hot date tonight?” A voice behind her asked.

“Yeah. But.. I look a mess.” She replied, still too taken with criticizing her reflection in the mirror to register the stranger intruding on her preening.

“You look fine.” the stranger returned, a cheeky smile quirking her lips. She peered over the blonde’s shoulder, violet eyes locking with blue. “Pretty cute, actually.”

“No I don’t - “ She paused, the fact that she lived alone in the room suddenly dawning on her. A familiar, full-lipped smile greeted her in the mirror. Heat followed the frisson of fear that rolled down her spine when she felt a pair of hands settle about her waist. “M-meenah!”

“Surprise~!” the girl crooned as she nuzzled Aranea’s hair.

The shock still hadn’t worn off for Aranea, who couldn’t help but stumble forward. She didn’t move when Meenah's hands shifted from her hips to her arms, where slender brown fingers drew down to her wrists and slipped between her own. After taking a moment to calm herself, Aranea spoke. “How did you even get in?”

Meenah eyed Aranea’s reflection in the mirror, and drew her tongue over her lips. For all the amusement she got out of teasing the blonde, the compliment she paid Aranea wasn’t just empty flattery - she cut one hell of a figure in the dress she was wearing. A pang of self-consciousness struck her when she considered her own attire - baggy black cargos kept in place by a belt she’d not bothered to cinch properly, an old, worn cropped shirt, and various accessories rounded out her ensemble. She looked every part the teenage dirtbag she was at heart. And though she held no shame at the fact, juxtaposed against her clean-pressed partner, she couldn’t help but feel sheepish.

“Meenah.”

“Key taped above the door.” Meenah offhandedly replied. She considered the time-weathered bit of cloth for a moment. It was a gift from her mother, from some number of years before. It was so old that only the lines of the graphic remained, all color long since peeled away. She loved the thing to death, and it seemed to be on the verge of dying it was riddled with so many rough patches, and more than a few (in her opinion, tasteful) holes. “I gotta ask…” she stepped away from Aranea. “Is there a dress code at this place we’re going to?” Meenah gingerly thumbed one of the many holes in her shirt. “ Because I’m gonna need to borrow a top if that’s the case.” 

“No enforced dress code, but you’re welcome to borrow one of the things in my closet, if you’d like?” Aranea offered. She took hold of the other girl’s hands. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re really dressed up. Like, wine and shitty small talk dinner party level of dressed up.” Meenah stepped away and began rifling through Aranea’s closet for a different top. Her face fell upon seeing the rows of blouses, formal tops, and collared shirts - nothing that would have gone even remotely well with her cargos.

“Well, I mean…” Aranea began, parsing over her words. “Wine aside, I am kind of, you know, heading out to dinner. With you. And it’s not as though we’re going to spend the entire night just sitting and eating and not talking, so ideally talk of a kind's going to happen, be it big or small. And the night’s too young to say that it won’t be a party just yet.” she laid a hand over Meenah’s waist and gently held her arm, almost as if she expected to begin slow dancing amidst the haphazard piles of unwashed clothes.

A strappy, slinky faded blue bit of cloth caught Meenah’s eye, and she gingerly pulled the thing free of its hanger. The hem hung to just above her waist, leaving a thin but generous swath of brown skin between the waistband of her pants and the edge of the blue fabric.The strings wove into a simple basket pattern below the back of her neck and led down into the main bodice. The top had no proper sleeves, but would hide the straps of her bra. She pulled the shirt she wore over her head and turned towards Aranea. The blonde, for her part, just stared as heat creeped into her face and her cheeks flushed red at the sight. Warm brown skin contrasted stunningly against the rich deep fuchsia of her bra, whose cups cradled, in her humble opinion, simply lovely bewbs.

Meenah laughed. The thought to avert her eyes didn’t occur to Aranea until the other girl spoke. “My eyes are up here, babe.” she held the top against her chest. “I feel like this would fit better without a bra. What do you think?” 

“Uhhhm..” Aranea turned away, trying to staunch the blood that began to trickle from her nose. “Whad?”

“Can I wear this..” Meenah couldn't keep the laughter rumbling in her chest from bleeding into her voice. She shook the fabric in her hands for emphasis. “..without a bra or are my titties too glorious?”

“Yesd.” was all she received in reply.

“Which though?”

“Both!” Aranea exclaimed as she struggled to suppress both her own laughter and the crimson spluttering from between her fingers. “Both is good!” she grabbed a shirt out of one of the nearby piles and dashed for the sink. A napkin rolled up into a cylinder stemmed much of the blood, while the shirt was an acceptable sacrifice in cleaning away the rest smeared over her upper lip. Meenah, for her part, pulled the blue top over her head, settling the straps about her neck. She gave her shoulders a roll before following the blonde into the en-suite bathroom.

“Well? How do I look?” she asked.

The off-blue paired well with the half-faded black of her cargos, and there wasn’t anything else to be said about Meenah’s physique - she was the kind of slender and lean the top was made for, and her pants, despite their baggy fit, stretched enticingly about her hips. Aranea considered her own figure - soft in a number of places, and the kind of top-heavy-curvy that had been drawing stares and turning heads ever since the onset of puberty. It wasn’t as though she could complain. The blonde understood that she was thought of as attractive, if in a girl-next-door kind of way. However, she couldn’t help wish that such wasn’t the case. She’d have had to endure fewer incidents like what happened with Kyle, otherwise. 

“Stunning.” she remarked simply. It was true enough. “As usual.”

At that, Meenah couldn’t help but huff. She’d hoped to get a bit more of a compliment out of the blonde. After taking a moment more to adjust her pants and the secure the top over her chest, she spoke. “Well then what are we doing standing around here for? We have a date, don’t we?” With that, she slipped an arm around Aranea’s waist and ushered her out the door.

It was mostly curiosity that motivated her haste. Aranea had taken the time to get dressed to the nines for their little night out, and wherever it was they were going was obviously classy enough to warrant such preening. But beyond that, she knew little. As she pulled the car out of the parking lot, she couldn’t help but ask yet again where it was they were going.

“This local jazz club..” Aranea replied as she patted her hair down. For all that she loved the feeling of wind blowing through her hair, she’d spent an ungodly amount of time trying to tame her mane. She would not let a few minutes of riding around in an open-top convertible ruin her hard work, no matter how much she enjoyed it. 

“Owned and operated by some graduates from the university here. I’ve only been the few times, but it was amazing. Mood lighting, dark wood decor, and the ambience is just…”

“Just… what? Lovely, amazing, brilliant, uhh… scintillatingly glamorous…?” Meenah ventured. It was the most long-winded adjective she could think of. Aranea laughed in turn, and shook her head, but stopped after a bit of thought.

“It makes me think of you, actually.” she replied. At that, Meenah brow furrowing in wordless prompt. Aranea was only too glad to elaborate. 

“Charming, warm, cozy. And… yeah, I guess all of those things.” Her lips quirked in the ghost of a cheeky smile. “Scintillatingly glamorous, as you so artfully put it, too.”

Meenah just rolled her eyes. But she couldn’t help but grin and blush all the same. “Smooth.”

“You’re words, love. Not mine.” Aranea replied. She cast her eyes towards the road, then, searching for the neon sign. A bolt of yellow loomed in the distance, bright against the quickly-darkening sky. “Mm, yeah. Hang a left here.”

Meenah obeyed, and eyed the storefront as she set about parking the car. Though they weren’t completely blacked out, the windows were almost opaque. At best, she could make out a number of occupied booths and a front register through the glass. But the smell that came off the place was something she recognized. Liquor undercut the aroma of smoke emanating from the front door, and she couldn’t help but glance at Aranea, who had already exited the convertible and was motioning for her to follow.

“It’s alright. This place is minor-friendly, and they only card you if you order from the bar.” Aranea reassured the other girl. Her hand dropped to her side as Meenah approached, and she couldn’t help but snake her fingers between them and clutch at her hand. She looked over towards her partner, whose expression was placid. Trepidation nibbled at the edge of her consciousness, and she couldn't help but speak up. 

“...Meenah?”

“Yeah?”

“Is.. do.. You want to go somewhere else?” She asked tentatively, hoping beyond hope that the girl would answer negatively. She’d been to the place more than once, and each time she returned, it was as though she were going for the first time. Put simply, she loved the place to death, and wished that Meenah would think the same.

“Uhm, no. I..” A number of thoughts tumbled in Meenah’s mind as she followed Aranea inside. The high school choir’s performance season was just about to start, and she’d yet to audition. A curious smile slowly spread over her face as she stopped by front door. “I was just wondering if this place has like, an open mic or karaoke night or something.”

Aranea couldn’t help but stare, and after a beat, she spoke. “They… do have a weekly open mic night, I think. Not sure if it’s today, though. Why?”

“Choir’s holding auditions soon. Singing at an open mic night would make good practice.” Meenah explained.

“You sing?” Aranea asked with genuine surprise. “Booth for two, please. I had no idea.” 

“Yeah.” Meenah returned with a soft laugh. “I’m not just a pretty face, you know. Besides, you know how it is with extracurriculars-” 

The difference in lighting between the club’s interior and the outside wasn’t particularly marked, and so she failed to notice when they entered. But upon properly taking the place in, she could only stare, mouth slightly agape. Aranea, despite her efforts, hadn’t done the place justice. The interior looked like a set straight out of an early 20th century period piece a la Gatsby, right down to the raised hardwood stage. What modern influence she could discern was evoked by the bare brick walls and Impressionist prints. A number of contemporary pieces hung in dark frames, but beyond that, everything screamed roaring twenties. She half-expected the patrons to be wearing ball gowns, fur boas, and casual-fit suits, but who she could see were wearing patently modern clothing across the scale. “..Whoa.”

“Yeah. I was actually wondering about that. When… Hmm?” She turned back towards her partner, then. And if she’d admit, she more than a little pleased by Meenah’s reaction, and she couldn’t help but gently elbow her in the side. ”Pretty cool, right?”

“That’s an understatement.” Meenah replied as she took in everything. Her eyes darted about the space, looking around even as she slid into the booth. And she couldn’t help but glance at the instrument set up - a keyboard was hooked into a small stack of amplifiers and a number of large string instruments surrounded the stage. A couple stood just off to the side, speaking with the coordinator. The man glanced up, and walked to the back to welcome another group of people, one of whom carried a large instrument bag on his back. A few stagehands began setting up a drum kit and moving the keyboard onto the stage proper. Meenah returned to face Aranea, who spoke after a moment.

“So, when are they going to start club days?” She asked as she began paging through the menus set on their table. 

Meenah quickly followed suit, flipping straight through the seafood section to the appetizers. After asking for more time to decide their drinks, the pair continued their conversation.

“I don’t know about the student-run clubs, but the performing arts department’s gonna hold auditions soon, like I said. So drama, the bands, choir, and all that. And some of the academic departments are holding trials already.”

At that, Aranea couldn’t help but look up from her menu. “Trials?” she asked.

“Yeah. A lot of the academic clubs are part of this program where they take some students onto a university campus to sit in on classes and lectures, usually during the last two periods of school. Club supervisors coordinate with teachers and professors to integrate material into class curriculum, kind of like a more hardcore Honors. Or AP.” Meenah explained. “Admission into the program’s merit-based, so they hold trials to rank members and separate out serious students from the kids who sign up for these clubs to pad applications. Not that it has much effect, considering only students who are on that track even bother to sign up in the first place.”

Aranea gave a contemplative hum. “So… when you say academic clubs, do you mean, like, STEM clubs and such? Or…?”

“Mostly, yeah. There are some academic arts clubs, like journalism and stuff. But the only clubs that have membership in the program are the literature club, media, and lifelong learning. LL’s kind of a mess, and Literature’s just a bunch of scrubs, though. So, it’s kind of weird that they still have membership.”

It made sense. Judging just from impressions, Lifelong Learning was abhorrently vague, and literature was of the same kind. And she could definitely see the club’s constituency as being composed of under-informed, over-vocal, self-proclaimed ‘intelligentsia’ types who threw around names like Kierkegaard, Sartre, and Ayn Rand when conversing with their equally pretentious friends. She couldn’t suppress a dry chuckle at the thought. But the media club piqued her curiosity. “Do you know much about it? The media club, I mean.”

At that, Meenah gave a wry smile. “You’re looking at its vice-president.”

Aranea’s eyes went wide in surprise. Such explained the breadth of Meenah’s knowledge of club administration and the program she’d just mentioned. And as she understood it, the vice-president had more of a hand in running the clubs affairs than the president. It wasn’t something she’d expected of the girl, considering they’d spent much of the previous weeks both during and after classes with each other - she’d never seen Meenah work on anything of the sort.

Meenah’s smile became more of a mischievous one upon seeing Aranea’s response. “Well, to be fair, the media club doesn’t… actually get together regularly like the other clubs do. Officially, I mean. We don’t have meetings, not a lot of supervisor oversight, or anything like that.” she confessed.

“Wait, so what does the media club actually do, then?” Aranea returned, confused. Meenah’s words only made her previous declaration that less believable. Though she wouldn’t put it past her to just use the club as an excuse to get out of classes early.

“Media.” Meenah replied with a shrug. “I mean, it’s kind of complicated.”

“We have time.” Aranea insisted. Meenah pouted, but continued speaking.

“Well, you know I’m auditioning for choir. Do you know which chair?” she began.

Aranea shook her head. 

“That’s a whole other thing, but pretty much, depending on how well you perform during your audition, you’re assigned a chair. That’s no matter what musical thing you try out for..” she paused, turning her attention to their server, who was approaching their table with a pen and pad in hand.

The pair put in the order for drinks and their meal - Coke and the appetizer sampler for her, a Shirley Temple and the pulled pork sliders for Aranea. As she watched the waitress depart, her gaze fell back towards the stage. The incoming band had finally set up. Her mouth fell open when she saw the members’ faces. A familiar head of dark hair and hazel eyes, eyes a shade of violet different from her own - more blue than red set in a rugged androgynous face, sunglasses tinted dark but distinct red, and an unruly shag mop of carrot-orange hair; there was no mistaking that collection of features. She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Jesus..”

The announcer spoke. “Alright, we have a very special treat for you all tonight. A not-so-little local band you may have heard of. Let’s have a round of applause for the The Birds and the Bees!” As the man had bid, the entire dining floor burst out clapping, and more than a few whistles and screams of ‘let me have your babies!!!’ were heard over the crowd. A familiar chuckle rumbled through the speakers.

“Terribly sorry, hun, but I am taken..” The figure on the stage gestured forward to the girl up front. “By that handsome dame on the keyboard.” The ‘handsome dame’ in question rolled her eyes, but blew the singer a kiss back for good measure, and was smiling when she turned her face to the spotlight. The guitarist’s head jerked back, as though he were shot in the face, before rolling down as he started strumming a few notes on his guitar. The band as a whole started a final soundcheck. Meenah, for her part, was muttering obscenities under her breath, almost inaudible to the blonde sitting opposite. Aranea, who was confused beyond her wits at the sudden change in her partner’s demeanor, couldn’t help but turn towards the stage. She felt a faint sense of recognition upon seeing the group, but couldn’t quite place any of the members’ faces. She turned back towards Meenah, brow furrowed with concern.

“Do you...are you okay…?” she hesitantly asked.

Meenah just drew a hand over her face and propped her chin up against the meat of her palm, eyes still cast towards the stage. “Yeah… just..”

The opening bars of the set drifted over the crowd, which had gone silent. The lead singer - the girl on the keyboard, adjusted the mic and began singing as the drummer - the girl wearing sunglasses in the dimness of the club, pedaled the bassline. “ _The town where she was born, like the town where I was born was / built by white settlers seeking gold and other treasures.._ ”

Meenah’s fingers moved back to the bridge of her nose. “This is eleven kinds of bullshit, I swear to god…”

It was then that their server arrived with their drinks. After taking a moment to toss back her Coke, she spoke.

“Ok, so… about the media club.. “ She began, voice heavy with exasperation. “Since it’s a general media club rather than a specific media club, there aren’t any single college-level courses the members can sit in. So instead, we practice - we do whatever media thing we do. And as proof of practice, like, that we actually do things instead of fucking off to get out of school, we have to turn in a portfolio, record, and summary of events we participate in.”

Aranea wasn’t following along at all. None of Meenah’s explanation justified the club’s membership in the observance program, or its classification as an academic arts club. “I… what?”

“We have to co-write a report and turn in a portfolio of… stuff that proves we did things. To the club supervisor to prove that we didn’t just cut class.” Meenah explained.

Aranea gestured vaguely to the empty space between them as she struggled to find the words. “No, I got that, but…meant… I… how is.. Why is it considered an academic arts club instead of just… a regular art club.” She asked as their server arrived with a tray precariously balanced on her palm. A plate loaded with sandwiches and chips was laid in front of Aranea, and a basket of various fried bits and a pair of sandwiches was placed in front of her partner. Meenah plucked a steak-cut fry from Aranea’s plate before continuing.

“One of the things that makes an academic arts club an academic arts club rather than a regular one is ‘interaction with the greater community’. Another is ‘an academically engaging subject matter’, according to the school bylaws. So like, our individual practices have to benefit the school somehow, which they do.” she explained, popping onion ring dipped in ranch into her mouth. “I mentioned I’m trying out for choir? All of the other club members are doing the same thing. One girl’s doing Speech and Debate, another’s with Dance Productions… these two guys are in a band that does shows for the school.”

She couldn’t help but smirk when Aranea snatched a mozzarella stick from her basket and stuffed the thing into her own mouth, to the girl’s dismay. And as she eyed Aranea’s expression from over the rim of her glass, trying to soothe her burnt tongue, a mischievous chuckle tumbled from her lips. “Want me to kiss it better?” she teased.

Aranea, for her part, just frowned as she sipped at her Shirley Temple, willing the cold of the drink to help with the pain. “Wait.. but you said you had to practice on your own. I… sort of get that for those boys in the band, but what about the other two? And you?” she asked as she began nibbling on a chip from her plate. “Not to mention… no offense meant, when I say this, but i can’t imagine that just performing for the school qualifies as academically rigorous.”

“Normally you’d be right. But considering that all the members of the club are performing professionally in a band together, which means not only do you have practicum in performance media, you also have a practicum in the business part to it. And ‘studying the social effect of the music industry and its influence over specific demographics’ sounds like the thesis to a college-level social science paper, doesn’t it?” Meenah returned smugly as she chewed her sandwich.

It did indeed, Aranea mentally acquiesced. Her mother had delivered lectures on similar subjects in the past. But...“Minors working-”

“We’re all of legal age to be working. That’s not to say the school doesn’t have a say in what we do. All of our official venues are pre-assessed and school-approved.” Meenah cut in. “Helps that most everything on that list is sponsored by the One Earth Foundation. Everyone’s signed a waiver. The school also negotiated a deal with this record company, so we don’t just play music, we also produce. I’m not the financial manager, though, so I don’t know the details, but…” Meenah polished off her sandwich and washed it down with a swig of Coke. “It all qualifies as producing music professionally. As in, industry-professionally.”

“So… I guess that means you’re a bonafide indie musician?” Aranea mused, the implication of her words starting to sink in. “Holy jesus, that means I’m.. “

“I don’t really see much stage time, though. Mostly on the sidelines… but, yeah.” the violet-eyed girl explained. “You are technically dating a rockstar.” Meenah couldn’t completely keep the smile off her face. She winked at Aranea. ”Live fast, die young. Bad girls do it well, or so I hear.” she leaned in, and motioned for the other girl to come closer. In a semi-hushed whisper, nearly drowned out by the crowd’s cheers, she spoke “And I am a very, very bad girl.” Meenah crooned as she pressed a kiss to the back of Aranea’s hand, who was blushing furiously at the comment.

It was something Aranea understood very well - they’d essentially been fondling each other in public, and if she hadn’t stopped Meenah during their date at the aquarium, she was sure she’d have had the girl’s face buried between her thighs in the bathroom. It was patently obvious that Meenah cared not a whit for public decency in the sense.

“Oh my god…” Her face was buried in her hands. Everything was too utterly surreal for her to process, and she was almost numb to the world going on around her. A thousand and one thoughts sparked and fizzled to nothingness in her mind as she tried to think through the content of their conversation. Aranea looked up from her hands to stare at the girl sitting across from her, simultaneously such a stranger and yet so familiar. Yes, she knew Meenah better than she knew some random person off the street, but she also knew very little. That the girl was of some import was something she recognized, back on their trip to the Aquarium. A more than passing familiarity with the One Earth Foundation, its history, influence and the program it hosted through which she was finishing out her secondary education, and so on made such evident enough. But she had no idea that Meenah was a literal rock star, someone who lived life in the fast lane and had no remorse or regret about doing so.

The nature of the potential correlation between the two was lost to her in that moment, however. All her daydreams of domesticity and a sedate student life evaporated before her, giving way to the violet-eyed, impossibly intriguing, intimately familiar, and utter enigma that was Meenah Peixes. Aranea stared at her with newfound awe, before turning her gaze towards the ceiling, trying to process the revelation. What Meenah said had made a dizzying amount of sense, and as she turned the facts over in her head, the conclusion they’d arrived at became increasingly valid, real. She was _dating a literal rock star_. Never in her wildest dreams back home did she imagine that moving to IA would so change her life in such dramatic fashion. And more than anything, she couldn’t help but regard Meenah with a mind-numbing admiration. Someone her age, leading so colorful a life… it was almost like something out of a movie, and definitely something that wouldn’t have occurred to her, even considering the circumstances of that first meeting in June. 

The pair finished their meal in relative silence, not a word shared between them. Though it wasn’t for a lack of trying. Meenah, who had sent a number of winks the blonde’s way, had settled for grinning smugly as she cleaned out the basket of appetizers she’d ordered. Aranea, for her part, remained resolutely taciturn as she worked through her sandwich and fries, desperately trying not to react to the violet-eyed girl’s foot running along her stockinged leg.

Her partner's sudden onset of silence would have concerned Meenah, were it not for the fact that Aranea was still largely responsive to her teasing. Every foray of her foot up Aranea’s leg was met by a defensive twitch. Meenah reached out to her, then, gently calling her name. Aranea, for her part, lifted her face from her plate, expression inscrutable. There was a kind of helpless confusion in her eyes, but it wasn’t pained, and for that, Meenah was thankful. The band playing finished their set list before her wits were settled enough for her to speak.

“I… don’t know what to say…” She began. Hesitantly, as though her limbs were lead, she took hold of the other girl’s hand. Her tentative expression fell when she saw Meenah’s eyes - they were set with apprehension, though she didn’t think to look behind her. She didn’t hear the footsteps of the party as it came near, drowned in the buzzing chatter of the club. “Meenah..”

“Meenah.” Porrim called out to her friend. She’d seen Meenah from up on stage, and had set to wonder why she hadn’t come closer. It wasn’t as though she didn’t know that they were there - the coordinator had announced their presence after all. But upon reaching the other girl’s seat, she came to understand why. The sight of a vaguely familiar head of blonde hair greeted her as she and the rest of the band approached. She quirked an eyebrow in silent question, and her hand met the advance of the boy next to her.

Cronus, upon seeing the violet-eyed girl, had immediately stepped forward, all congenial smiles until he felt Porrim’s hand stop him in his tracks. It was then that he noted the blonde in the booth sitting opposite his childhood friend. He turned to the dark-haired girl, whispering lowly. “Is this her?”

He received a nod in response, and coughed loudly. Aranea turned, then, and a number of things clicked when Meenah spoke again. Still that apprehension colored her tone, but her face bore a tight smile. Immediately the blonde stood and greeted the newcomers, trying and failing to not sound starstruck. “H-hello..! Loved your show. Just. Wow..”

The group as a whole broke out in a wave of appreciative words - thank you’s and expressions of gratitude whose sincerity she couldn’t discern. Cold rushed up her spine to settle in fuzz until she felt her partner move behind her. Meenah rose, wrapping a protective arm around her waist. There was a tension there Aranea couldn’t quite place, and she didn’t know what to make of the way the red-headed boy greeted her with an overly-complicated handshake, nor the scrutinizing look the girl in the shades was glaring her partner’s way.

“Aren’t you going to introduce us?” The hazel-eyed girl purred as she sauntered closer, and immediately, Aranea’s heart began hammering against her ribs. Up close and personal with nearly 180 centimetres of towering, gorgeous woman, it was all she could do. Porrim, for her part, couldn’t help but appraise the blonde clinging to her friend as though she were a raft in the middle of a raging sea. The attachment wasn’t one-sided, however. Meenah held her just as closely, if not tightly. She could see now why her friend had been so apprehensive on that day in the bathroom. The blonde was cute, and she couldn’t help but nibble at her lower lip as she took in the girl’s curves. And the way Meenah tilted her head, a question unspoken but very clearly intimated, saw Porrim meet the stern violet gaze her friend leveled her way. She just stared on, as though saying ‘of fucking course I’m going to behave’.

After a moment more of sideways glances and the buzz of words just to fill silence, Meenah spoke. “Yeah… ok. Guys, this is Aranea. Aranea, guys.” Simple, to-the-point, and a skillfully subtle fuck-you to the dark-haired girl whose expression declared disbelief but not shock. But at the pointed look Porrim gave, she sighed.

“Porrim.” She nodded to the hazel-eyed girl. “Danny.” The violet-eyed boy just scoffed. She waved to the redhead in the back, and gave a cool nod to the girl in the red shades. “Scrubs.” Both just flipped her the bird, and she laughed.

“MP.” the girl greeted, almost coolly.

“As in, Military Police?” Aranea hesitantly asked. She had no idea what to make of this motley crew, and her confusion was plain on her face. Most of the tension she could pick up was between the dark-haired girl and her partner, and for a brief moment, she couldn't help but wonder if she was the one Meenah was trying to get over. But the names didn’t fit. _Zora_ , not Porrim. What the other girl in sunglasses had said took a second for her to comprehend - Meenah’s initials. “Nevermind. I.. yeah.” she forced a smile as sweat began to bead on her forehead. It was just like that first day - all she could make out of the faces of these newcomers, all she could hear of their conversation, was a distorted chattering and a series of blurs. She reached for Meenah, and breathed a small sigh of relief when she felt the fingers digging lightly into her side.

“Not gonna lie, I prefer ‘Paycheck’.” Meenah returned evenly. 

What hope of coherence in the conversation Aranea held dissolved when the red-shades girl and her partner began tittering back and forth in overly-long and needlessly complicated metaphors. Barbed words, but not so viciously intoned - banter, as she barely understood it. It was the redhead who broke the mounting awkwardness, moving up past the hazel-eyed girl and the boy Meenah referred to as Danny; he’d been nattering on in what Aranea presumed was indignation at being called such. The boy warmly grasped her hand. 

“Like your, um, Meenah said, the tit’s Cronus.’ He began, gesturing to the violet-eyed boy, who continued to sputter and bemoan. “Porrim, our aunt. she wants to be our mum, but I don’t think she’s that matronly quite yet, I mean, just look at her. Too lissome, yeah?” The aforementioned girl couldn’t help but give him a playful nudge. And at that, Aranea gave a genuine laugh. She should have known it from the shock of hair on his head - he spoke with an all-too familiar brogue. “And this,” His hand slipped down the second girl’s arm to her wrist, where he brought it up to brush his lips across her knuckles. And immediately, her cheeks flushed scarlet. “Is Asphodel Rainflower. She’s my soulmate.”

“Pyrope. Latula Pyrope.” She was quick to correct him. 

Aranea was all too glad to shake the hand she’d been extended. However, she couldn’t help but look to the group in benign confusion, drawing a response from Porrim.

“Sometimes he calls her ‘Tulip’. Like the flower. It’s a bit of a running theme with him. I’ve been called Donna in the past.” What she’d said helped Aranea in no way until she elaborated. “Like belladonna, nightshade. I prefer thinking of it as ‘Madonna’.”

“It fits.” Aranea admitted. A tentative smile pulled at her lips as she continued. “May I call you Maggie?”

Porrim quirked a brow, but smirked nonetheless. Pretty and quick on the uptake. But she couldn’t puzzle out why the blonde elected to call her such. Or why Aranea seemed so familiar. “I prefer just being called by my given name… but I’d like to know why, if you don’t mind my asking?”

Cronus, who had finally regained enough sense of mind, filled the dark-haired girl in. “Because, babe…” he began, gesturing to the blonde. “This cutie understands. I’m the Tony to your Maria.”

Porrim, for her part, just rebuffed him. The reference wasn’t lost on her, and while she certainly found his fondness for all things Greaser amusing, she didn’t care a whit for it in that moment. Though she couldn’t help but inwardly smirk when Aranea answered in the affirmative.

“Yeah..! West Side Story. Maria… Mary Magdalene, or, Maria Magdalena, because um…” Color and heat suffused Aranea’s cheeks as she elaborated. “I am terribly sorry if this is too forward of me, but you do give off this worldwise, uh, elegant and m-mature, erm, vibe… yeah..” 

Porrim’s smirk wavered, almost becoming an honest smile at her clumsy flattery. She was sincere in her words, that much she could tell, but again. Aranea’s manner of speech, her appearance, the familiarity of it all had set an itch in the back of her mind. She was sure she’d seen the girl before. She just gave Meenah a wink, and laughed as the girl pointedly rolled her eyes. “I’m flattered.”

Aranea blushed, and returned the smile, her grip on Meenah’s hand loosening. Her unease at meeting this new group of people was starting to abate, but didn’t evaporate completely.

“Forbidden love’s cliche as hell.” Mituna snipped around a mouthful of chips. He’d taken the liberty of helping himself to the leftover potato wedges on Aranea’s plate, and Latula was doing the same - she’d even squirted a bit of ketchup over them, and was working through the shrinking mound of potato with a fork.

“How it’s done like in Romeo and Juliet, yes. Not so much just forbidden love on its own.” Aranea couldn’t help but return. The redhead just gave a thoughtful and acquiescing nod. It then dawned on her that she hadn’t officially invited the pair to her food, nor did she invite the violet eyed boy to the other half of her sandwich, but he was tucking in regardless. “Would you like to join us?” she asked the last standing member of the band.

Porrim nodded, and looked over Meenah’s empty basket. She affected a frown. “Meenah, I know you’re a growing girl, but..”

Meenah, for her part just rolled her eyes as she slid into the booth, muttering under her breath all the while. Aranea followed, and couldn’t help but give a nervous laugh as Porrim came in after her. Crushed between her partner and another pretty girl, she felt as though there were no better place in the world to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No words, just... I'm sorry, but the 'Useless Lesbian' trope is just a little too much fun to play with. But, that said, no, Pornus isn't the obligatory straight ship, I swear.


	8. (Not so) Startling Revelations

Though their server arrived in five minutes to hand out more menus, it had taken fifteen for their drinks and orders to come out, and another half-hour for the crowds that gathered to watch the band’s performance to dissipate. An ongoing throng of them walked by their table in a kind of impromptu Q&A. It was nearly curfew before things had settled down enough for the group to relax.

“South London. Jesus…” Muttered muttered Mituna as he chewed through the bite of his burger he had taken. He swallowed, before staring stonily at the blonde. “I should’ve fuckin known..”

“Come off it, tosser. You’re the one from bloody Dublin!” Aranea replied, drinking deeply of her fourth Shirley Temple of the night. “You can’t rag on me for being _the_ stereotypical english exchange student when you’re what everyone thinks of when someone says Irish lad.”

“I’m _not from_ Dublin, you bint. Just…” he snapped back defensively. such was true, technically speaking. He’d only come back from the States to Dublin some three odd years ago, and even then, it wasn’t for very, long. But long enough to lose what little color he’d gained after living in New York for the better part of 13 years. That he was born in Dublin didn’t help his case. The boy couldn’t help but scrub at his freckles. He had to concede that to her, though - he looked every part of a stereotypical irish boy, right down to his pale complexion and ruddy hair. “Stuff it, cow.” he muttered under his breath.

“Case in point, _leprechaun_.” Aranea bit back. Despite her affected ire, she was inwardly beaming. It’d been long since she’d indulged in such bantering, and that Mituna didn’t immediately blank when she tossed around slang she knew so well, and instead responded with equally localized vernacular, was a solid number of points in his favor. She made a show of shaking the thing to ease some ice into her mouth, hiding her expression behind her empty glass.

The redhead felt the same. Though Cronus was a close friend and they’d bickered some, and Latula was Latula, he’d not been able to really let go in the same way and to the same degree as with Aranea - the former as a result of sheer cultural difference, and the latter because of the nature of their relationship. It was tentative, a mutual fondness just about growing into more, nevermind that he well knew that she was from Essex.

The pair continued bickering, much to Porrim’s bemusement, even as she quietly conversed with Meenah. She and Aranea had switched positions some time before, and she now occupying the seat furthest into the booth while Meenah sat between them. “I still don’t understand why you were so nervous about introducing her to us.” Porrim mused as she plucked an onion ring out of the basket in front of her. “From what you told me, i thought she would have been more of a wallflower. She seems capable of holding her own.”

“Introducing her to _you_.” Meenah corrected. Porrim acquiesced the point with a blithe shrug, and her thoughts turned. Aranea’s debut among her circle of friends had gone exceedingly well, rocky start notwithstanding. But she contested her friend’s second point. “And yeah, holding her own with us. We’re all friends in a public setting. A party is.. Kind of a public setting. But unlike places like this,” she subtly gestured to the dining room around them. “Can you honestly tell me that some shitlord wouldn’t try to make a move on someone like her and someone would stop them?”

Something about Meenah’s words didn’t sit quite right with her, but Porrim couldn’t pin down what. There was, however, some sense in what she was saying. Despite parties being technically public settings, it was much more likely that people would consign themselves to simply observing if not ignoring the goings on around them. “Fair. And fine. I’ll see if I can’t rope Cronus into bodyguard duty.”

“That’s all I’m asking.”

The boy in question could only look on as he struggled to make sense of the increasingly nonsensical insults the blonde and the redhead threw at each other. “In english, please.” Cronus desperately cut in. As one, both Mituna and Aranea turned on him, loosing a slew of strictly British English profanities upon him, though the latter was quick to apologize, flashing him a warm smile before returning her attention to the redhead.

Latula couldn’t help but laugh as he pouted and began tattling to Porrim. She’d been following along just fine, of course, having been raised in roughly the same township as the blonde, but she made no move to remind him that she too was from England. “What was Wildersson like?” she asked as she leaned in.

Aranea couldn’t help but give a weary groan at her question. She tipped more ice and chewed, savoring the cool crunch before responding. “A right hot mess, honestly. Modern interiors like right out of some speculative fiction graphic novel, but external architecture out of some young adult urban fantasy set in New England…” her head slumped against the table midsentence. “It was like if a crazy fangirl designed a school..” she mumbled dejectedly.

“Jesus.” Latula, of course, knew of Wildersson academy. And though she’d consigned much of what she’d heard as rumor and hearsay, everything Aranea was saying accorded with what her friends back home told her - that it was, as the blonde put it, a hot mess. She could only cup her mouth over hand to try and stifle her laughter.

“Can’t have been too terrible though. I mean, sounds like you’re a perfect fit.” Mituna teased behind a sliver of fried potato.

Aranea nodded. While she didn’t care for the school’s other students outside of her own circle of friends, she thoroughly enjoyed the time she’d spent there. It was why she was so apprehensive on her first day - Isla Atlantica was dizzyingly different. “Honestly, yeah. it would’ve been great, if it weren’t for the people.” she continued. “If a crazy fangirl designed the school, then an American was in charge of Admissions.”

Cronus couldn’t help but pipe up at her comment, the only American in the group. ”Not all Americans-”

“No, I mean,” Aranea was quick to clarify what she’d meant.”just… imagine all the terrible english stereotypes as imagined by an American whose only knowledge of English culture came from a five minute interweb search. Now imagine people who embodied all those stereotypes ten times over. That’s what I’m talking about.” She elaborated.

“Damn.” Cronus just shrugged. “Well, I mean, stereotypes come from somewhere, and all that. There’s bound to be people who fit the bill.”

“Yes, but just think of the kind of bullsh...serendipity involved in having those exact people make up the student body.” Aranea insisted. “Mm...Like this one guy from Newcastle? He was.. burnt orange.. ” Her words trailed off as she rose from the table and rested her head against Meenah’s shoulder. And despite her efforts, she couldn’t help but yawn, before nuzzling into her shoulder. Meenah, for her part, returned the gesture in kind, gently nudging Aranea’s face with her cheek. A glance at the clock over the bar revealed what she wanted to know - it was almost half past eleven.

“Looks like Cinderella’s getting close to curfew.” Cronus mused as he scooted out of his side of the booth. The rest of the group checked the time on their phones, but remained seated until Latula waved a waitress down for the bill and some boxes for their leftovers.

Meenah tapped on Porrim’s shoulder then, and gestured for the girl to scoot out, before turning to the rest of her friends. “We should probably get going.” her words were met by a chorus of agreement. Latula and Mituna were easing out of their side of the booth, and Cronus had already gone up to the register to pay for his and Porrim’s meal. Meenah gently shook Aranea, who had begun to nod off. “Nea? Babe? We’re going home now, ok?”

The blonde stirred, and was more than a little bewildered by the absence of her partner’s friends at the table. “W-whuh… Where is everyone?” She mumbled.

“They’re up at the front paying.” Meenah replied as she slipped a supporting arm around the blonde’s waist, before half-carried her to the front door. “Come on…”  
____

After bidding Mituna and Latula farewell, the group of four made their way to the parking lot. The wind had picked up since they’d entered the club, and the evening chill was something neither Porrim nor Meenah had dressed for. Aranea offered her sweater to her partner, and Porrim girl couldn’t help but look over to her own partner expectantly. Cronus made no move to shed his outer layer of clothing, and she frowned. Something to remedy, she mused internally. “Boy, it sure is cold…” she spoke aloud, pointedly speaking in his direction of. Cronus could only grin, and turned back with a smile too sly to be anything but cheeky.

“Well, it’s a good thing you’re hot..” he teased. At her glare, however he did pull off his flannel and hung back, draping it over her shoulders.

It was then that the nagging familiarity in the back of Porrim’s mind became recognition. Her eyes settled on the blonde meandering before her. Beside Meenah, there was no doubt now about her conclusion - she was the same girl the group had met on the first day of the semester. Her steps slowed, and so too did the her partner’s as she beckoned him closer. The pair continued following along when Aranea looked back, concerned. She flashed the blonde a smile, before pulling Cronus in.

“Remember that girl Kyle was messing with on the first day?” Porrim began.

“Yeah, her.” Cronus gestured towards the blonde in front of them, his voice kept low because for some reason he couldn’t fathom, Porrim was trying to do the same. She couldn’t help but turn to him in surprise.

“You knew and you didn’t tell me?”

He shrugged. “You never asked. Lame, I know, but… technically true.”

“When did you figure it out?” she asked.

“When she asked if she could call you Maggie.” the boy confessed. “Thought it was just a coincidence, blue eyes and bottle blonde hair. But then she spoke, and the rest is history, I guess. It’s not like there’s a bunch of english girls with hair and eyes like hers at our school.”

Porrim’s brow furrowed as she contemplated her partner’s words. It was obvious now that he had pointed it out, but of all the girls attending their school she knew to be from the UK, few had hair as fair as Aranea’s, and even fewer had eyes of the same color, let alone anywhere near the same shade of blue. She chastised herself mentally for not recognizing the girl sooner, and brought her gaze up from the ground, scrutinizing the blonde from behind. The intensity of her stare did not go unnoticed.

“What’s so important about it, anyway?” Cronus asked, still confused by his partner’s sudden onset of what he could best describe as suspicion. While he wasn’t as observant, he had a fair sense of people, and their shared evening with Aranea had enlightened him to a single fact - she was soft, in a few senses of the word. There was no cunning, no plotting nature behind her mask of congeniality. Rooted in sincerity though it was, it was a mask, that he did not doubt. But best he could figure, she was an exchange student socializing with a new group of peers for the first time. Caution wasn’t something he could fault her for, considering.

“Just look at them.” Porrim gestured to the pair walking along in front of them. Where cable-knit wool once stretched around the blonde’s shoulders, they draped and pillowed about Meenah’s. Her arm was held against Aranea’s side, kept in place by a limb that snaked down to her wrist, a strange position by any means but it seemed as though the girl was used to it or didn’t mind in the least. Their fingers were loosely entwined, connected but enough room to play. And their proximity bespoke a level of intimacy any passersby would have construed as a very close friendship, if not outright romantic - steps just shy of being in sync, meandering as one. At least, it appeared as such to her eyes. Watching them made her heart throb with familiarity, and she turned back to her own partner.

Cronus, for his part, didn’t quite understand Porrim’s meaning, but he did pick up on the closeness between the two. He couldn’t help but quirk a brow when she drifted closer and slipped her hand into his, and pulled into a soft smile. He brushed his lips against her cheek and pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. After a moment more of staring at the two girls walking ahead of them, it clicked.

“How long do you think those two have been together?” Porrim asked, voice at once both wistful and concerned.

He waved her question off, chalking it up to his partner’s mothering nature to make metaphorical mountains of molehills. Mituna’s comment from earlier in the evening was right on the mark - she was fixing to be the mom friend of their group, and he laughed. Dad jokes were a thing for him, after all. “Still not following, hon.”

“I mean, just think about it. They’ve known each other maybe what, like a few weeks?” Porrim began. “Possibly even to the start of the semester. And already they’re-”

“The way we were after four months.” the violet-eyed boy finished. He nodded. “You have to admit though, we’re kind of shit at the whole sizzling romance thing, this..” Cronus brought their hands up, and gave hers a gentle squeeze. “Aside.” He was starting to understand what was tying his partner into knots - Meenah had known Aranea for all of three weeks, not even a month, and yet the two had built such rapport that their closeness screamed romance. Meenah’s characteristic aloof stiffness was gone, replaced by a languidity that made him think of rheumy sunlit rooms and curtains billowing in the spring breeze. And Aranea, soft as he’d understood her to be over the course of the night, was melting into the girl’s sharp angles. He could just about see the two, draped over a couch sleeping without a care in the world in each other’s arms. No wonder Porrim was suddenly so touchy-feely - their intimacy was infectious. She gave a sigh, and rested her head against his shoulder.

“Our little girl’s all grown up..” Porrim quipped off-handedly. And Cronus could only give an affirmative hum.

Meenah, who had been listening in on their exchange, flushed crimson at her friends’ words. Leave it to Porrim to piece things together, and Cronus to take things in a direction she’d they have rather not. She could almost feel their doting stares digging into her back, and gave Aranea’s hand a squeeze as she loosed a tired sigh. “Trying to be slick… we can hear y’all talking.” she couldn’t help but mutter under her breath.

Aranea, for her part, hadn’t quite heard every word exchanged between the pair behind them, though she caught the gist of their conversation all the same. And she just nuzzled in more firmly against Meenah’s shoulder and returned her gesture in kind. Part of her opted to stay silent. Another, the mischievous part of her, however, didn’t. She glanced back at the couple, and gave the two a little wave before leaning up to whisper in Meenah’s ear, an impish smile twisting her lips as she spoke. “Wanna give those crusty old geezers a show?”

Meenah turned towards her partner then, confusion evident on her face for a moment. She caught the meaning of Aranea’s words when she felt her hand slip out of her own and move to her hip, where pale fingers dug lightly into her side. And she could only swallow around the knot swelling in her throat as the beating of her heart started echoed in her ears. “What?”

“Don’t you want to stick it to your ‘parents’?” Aranea asked, gesturing to the couple following just behind. “Make a statement declaring…” Her other hand settled against the her partner’s middle, before inching higher up until her fingers met the skin of Meenah’s chest. Touch featherlight, she drew her fingers across to cup Meenah’s cheek “..your emotional independence..” Her smile became decidedly less mischievous as the warmth of Meenah’s skin through the low chill of the evening, the warmth bled through the connection to join with the heat flaring in her chest. What she’d said that day in the aquarium, she didn’t remember. Suddenly, all Aranea could think of were the the presence of full lips mere inches from her own, and the ghost of fingers tracing over her cheek. She glanced up into violet eyes, and lowered her gaze to the girl’s lips, her own tentatively caught between her teeth.

_Heartbeats falling into sync, rhythms of breath becoming a singular, undifferentiated throb_. The moment they shared, just after before their date at the Aquarium, was all Meenah could think of in that instant. Her mind sped back, to when the beating of a heart that wasn’t her own had brought her to tears. And again, when lips hovered a fingerbreadth away, the sound of breath stark against the din of uncaring footsteps. The want she felt then was the want she felt now, looking into sea blue eyes that made her heart soar and her head spin. And spin it did when her partner started forward, closing those last few inches.

Aranea was moving before she knew herself, and gave a soft gasp when she felt lips against her own. Her heart stood still, as did time and space. Lush velvet filled her mind as her eyes slipped closed, the last sight they’d seen were violet doing the same. Her heartbeat grew loud, a steady thump-thump throbbing in the back of her skull. It sounded slowly at first, then became thunder in her ears as fireworks erupted behind her eyelids, going off into the pink clouds in her head. She sighed, and clutched at her partner.

Meenah returned the kiss, not with fiery passion, but warm gentleness. Deja vu flared again. But with it, came recognition, this time around. June. Her hands settled on Aranea’s hips and delicately stroked up her sides as her tongue plied the blonde’s lips, each motion slow and deliberate. _Ariana_. No, not Ariana. In her drunkenness, and the resentment that had so consumed her mind, the loss that had her reeling, she’d misheard. _Aranea_.

Their steps stopped altogether as she let the want simmering in her breast take over, and pulled the girl closer, until she couldn’t tell where her body ended and Aranea’s began. Her tongue, ever nimble, played against Aranea’s mouth, carefully tracing every dip and contour, drinking deeply of the girl’s soft moans and relishing her taste. And all she could do, was hold on as each caress sent her spinning further into bliss, even as her mind sped back in time.

As the velvet in her mind gave way to hazy down and rosy fluff, Aranea couldn’t help but take Meenah’s face into her hands, desperate for contact beyond just their mouths moving together. She felt fingers moving in a flurry against her side, slipping up her spine to just below her neck as more grasped at her hips; each touch was returned in kind, an anchor keeping her firm and present in the moment. So secured, she fell, letting the fluff in her head melt down to her core. Everywhere it touched was set ablaze, heat growing until she had to pull away, breathless.

Meenah could only try to breathe as she opened her eyes, greeted by the sight of pale cheeks flushing crimson. It was another long second, an eternity, before she recovered enough to speak.

“You…” she began hoarsely, eyes boring into sea blue. Familiar sea blue that glittered now that the realization had struck her. “You were…”

Aranea nodded, and smiled, before pressing another kiss, no longer constrained by hesitation stacked on top of misunderstanding. She spoke. “I was wondering when you’d realize…” She mused with a dreamy smile. And that smile was all it took, to convey what she’d kept to herself ever since they’d met again, at the start of the semester.

Meenah, similarly, said nothing, and held Aranea’s stare, silent as the enormity of the moment sunk in. It wasn’t the first kiss that they’d shared, she understood now. But even considering, it was something else entirely that made her thoughts and her heart race. Zora, not forgotten, but mourned. The end of one of the most meaningful and long-lived relationships she’d had in her adolescence, committed to the vast halls of her memory. And in its place, was something new, and no less precious for it. For a long moment, only silence reigned between them, not exactly comfortable, but not exactly uncomfortable, either. Tentative and intimate.

Meenah was sorely tempted to sequester herself in her head, to let her mind race to the theoretical end when Aranea would inevitably break things off because she’d fucked up again, as she so often had. But the fingers, warm against her cheek, and the eyes, holding so tenderly against her own, saw her stay in the present. She had time, she had now, and she had a future to spare and contemplate. Maybe, Meenah couldn’t help but think as she lost herself in a sea of warm blue, she wouldn’t fuck up this time. And that thought saw hope displaced the dread sitting familiar in beneath her ribs, and the grief. Though it didn’t bare the kind of blazing heat she’d dreamed of, there was a kind of mind-numbing warmth that accompanied the fluttering feeling in her chest all the same.

The same warmth that had her so subdued after the incident at the aquarium, the afternoon they’d spent together at the beginning of the semester, the warmth of an early June evening, when she’d been drunk and dejected. She was sober now, however, and she remembered, the storm in her head in that moment, the warm spring wind that had blown through her wintry ribs, that had been enough to see her trepidation fall by the wayside. She remembered the months she’d spent sequestered and solemn mourning her. Meenah remembered how it all had been washed away as the crowd parted like the sea, that June evening. And now, as then, Meenah felt alive, in a way she hadn’t since Zora’s exodus out of her life. And she could only stare, at a loss.

It was Cronus who broke the silence, with a pointed cough as unobtrusive as he could manage. He called to the two, tangled up in each other’s arms. “You kids, uh, want anything? Some snacks… maybe condoms?” it was the best he could do, another reference to an old movie from a bygone era. And despite the attempt at breaking the awkwardness, he still felt entirely too much like a voyeur, just watching the two girls hold each other.

Porrim just gave him a smack for his trouble. “Way to kill the mood, you ass.” She muttered as she continued walking. Their friends had straightened themselves out, and were walking a little more stiffly than before, Aranea especially. For her part, the girl was blushing crimson, and the embarrassment she doubtlessly felt was made plain every time she glanced back. Porrim couldn’t help but chuckle - Aranea was just too cute. The change in atmosphere put her in a contemplative mood, however.

If it wasn’t obvious before, then what she’d just witnessed between Meenah and Aranea was proof of their intimacy. Intimacy borne, she thought to herself, of three weeks’ interaction, and quite possibly less. What bearing the fact would have on their relationship wasn’t something she wanted to speculate, especially given her history with Meenah, but the impulse wasn’t so easily dismissed. Porrim watched on, eyes carefully following the blonde in the distance, and she couldn’t help but get the sense that big things were looming large in their collective futures.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obligatory call-out chapter, because we can never have too many of those. Porrim being the momfriend is not why she's best girl, I swear. 
> 
> Comments and feedback appreciated :)


	9. Wallflowers and Wool

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heavy-handed references to my, at best, topical understanding of fashion, part 1. Ahoy!

It was dark, before she could make sense of anything. But hazy black gave way to muted red, then blurry and warm off-yellow as a soft trill wound its way into her receding dreams. Downy-soft blonde greeted her sleep-heavy eyes, and when she realized where she was, she stirred to consciousness.

Aranea rose with a yawn, bereft of her clothes from the night previous. Her dress hung draped over her the back of her desk chair, and the strap of her bra peeked out from one of the sleeves. She felt the soft caress of wool over her shoulders, but an autumn breeze coming in from an open window blew gooseflesh across her thighs and a curious scent to tickle at her nose. There was an underlying sweetness pervading the wool that wasn’t her own, and she couldn’t help but touch a finger to her lips, and bring the edges of her sweater to her nose. It still smelled of _her_.

_Meenah._

The name was on her tongue, half-mumbled, before could she comprehend its significance. Bolts of memory, summer heat, lips moving against her own and a tongue stroking against the roof of her mouth, fingers slipping up into her hair and grasping at her hips, flashed in her mind. Then, dark wood, the tang of barbecue sauce, and the light taste of grenadine mixed into ginger ale. Red hair, red-tinted lenses, dark hair, bright eyes, two kinds of violet… a date. Each image lent weight to the name, until it all came crashing back to her. Their date, her debut amongst newfound friends - its climax, a kiss, that, even half-remembered, left her breathing hard and wanting even as she stood on leaden legs and stumbled into the ensuite kitchen. It wasn’t so much a kitchen, however, as much as a small refrigerator, a microwave, a sink, a range, and little else. But, considering that her suite even had a range to begin with wasn’t anything she could bemoan. Coffee was set to drip before she made her way out onto the terrace to greet the early morning sunlight.

As she stood in warmth, Aranea couldn’t help but reflect on the night previous. Brogue so familiar, spoken out of a pale face capped with a mop of red hair - _Mituna_ , she remembered. Banter that had turned the night from awkward into what she can just about remember - warm, welcoming, he’d done away with the hesitation she’d felt. And a pair of sunglasses tinted so dark she couldn’t help but wonder how their owner had even seen in the dim light of the club. Melodic and nasal tones, a lilting and oddly choppy voice. _Essex…_ no wonder Latula had asked about Wildersson. Though there were many in the township, the school was notorious by any definition of the word. Famous, even, for being so utterly bizarre, that the girl had commented such. _“If a crazy fangirl designed the school, then an American was in charge of Admissions.”_

Violet eyes a different shade from what she knew well. Dark hair, carefully tousled and pushed back to give the illusion of sloppiness. Or of wildness, she mused. Danny. Incorent sputtering in the noise of the club, and indignation. _No… it.. Cronus._ Easy and congenial smiles, practiced and polite interest, but not engagement. A subdued but charming confidence and a voice one rasp shy of being smokey. _“...but I am taken...by that handsome dame on the keyboard..”_ Aranea sputtered at the memory.

A lush thicket of hair, and eyes a different kind of alluring. A flawless complexion warm under the light of the club - _Porrim_ , the aunt of their group. And though Mituna’s comment rang in the back of her mind she blushed all the same. The girl was indeed too lissome to be a mother, or at least, any kind of mother she’d seen outside of movies about teenage shenanigans and mother-chasing archetypes. It didn’t bear to think about anyway. There was a maternal grace to her, more woman than girl, and an unsung implication of experience she was too daunted to contemplate for long, even if she did want to, not that she’d admit it. But Porrim’s partner had her recanting. The blonde didn’t know what to think of him. Save that he didn’t set her on edge, there was nothing remarkable about him. Except, that was remarkable in and of itself. There was a casual swagger to his demeanor she’d seen in other men, and they’d not managed that. It was… a restraint and a carefully affected disinterest. No wonder Cronus didn’t put her off, considering. And more, the way they’d bickered in the parking lot, and the quiet security of their relationship - both reminded her of couples long into marriage, even if they were her age.

It was strange to think about, that their little group of friends had a designated ‘old married couple’. If that was what Porrim and Cronus were, and the other two were the first explorations of sure young love, then what did that make her and Meenah, she couldn’t help but wonder. Some tempestuous, bon vivant inbetween? No… that was what they all were - headstrong teenagers coming into their own and understanding their place in the world. Then what? A familiar head of dark hair bobbing below caught her eye and pulled her out of her thoughts. Was it…? 

“Porrim..?” She called out tentatively. The girl looked up, the surprised but pleasant smile evident on her face even in the distance.  
____

Porrim smiled around the rim of the mug in her hands as she watched the blonde shuffle about. “Big island, small world. “ she mused out loud.

“Totally, yeah. I had no idea we lived in the same block.” Aranea replied cheerily as she poured herself a cup of coffee. At that, Porrim laughed.

“I bet. So, you don’t remember anything from last night?”

Aranea just shrugged. “I remember some bits. Like dinner, the show, and such. But not everything, no.” She sat down and took a sip from her mug before continuing. “Why? Did something happen?”

“Nothing interesting. Meenah wigged out when she found out we were neighbors, though. And we sort of.. had to carry you up.”

She couldn’t help but choke, and coughed violently as she tried to clear her throat of the scalding brew. “Y-you what?”

Porrim girl bit back another laugh. “Yeah, you were dead asleep. Couldn’t wake you up, so we did the next best thing.”

Aranea tugged the ends of her sweater closed over her chest, and scarlet bled up to the tips of her ears as her face flushed with heat. “Then… did you..” She glanced at her dress and underwear hanging over the back of her desk chair. But as Porrim followed her gaze, she offered a wry smile and shook her head.

“No, your, ah, girlfriend did. Very insistent about it, too. It would’ve been funny, if it wasn’t so cute.” She explained as she rose, before wandering over to the blonde’s closet.

“Oh.” Girlfriend. Her girlfriend. That’s what Porrim had called Meenah. Her cheeks reddened further at the thought. With this secondhand approval, it may as well have been official - she was now in a relationship with another girl. A number of reactionary tangents sprang up in her mind, all immediately quashed by the sound of a contemplative hum. Porrim was appraising her wardrobe, it seemed. And suddenly, Aranea felt self-conscious. She could see the the thoughts turning in Porrim’s head plain on her face. She couldn't help but wonder if the girl was naturally so unguarded, if her face was that inherently expressive.

“Do… are you free today?” Porrim asked as she plucked a blouse out of the blonde’s closet, drawing an appreciative finger along the surface of the fabric before settling it back on a hanger and sorting through the rest. It was neatly organized, or at least, squared away. But there was no underlying pattern, no rhyme and reason to the arrangement, best she could see. She turned to Aranea with an inquiring stare.

“Um, ahh… I don’t know. I’ve got reading to catch up on, and some assignments left to finish…” Aranea replied, mug of coffee in hand as she wandered towards her friend mentally ticked off all the things she just _had_ to get done today. “Laundry, shopping, a few errands-” Porrim cut her off then, a curious and crooked half-smile twisting her lips as the girl started rifling through her closet in earnest.

“Homework I can understand, but… errands? What are you, some suburban housewife with two point five kids and a CPA for a husband?” She returned as she pulled another article of its hanger before setting it down on a steadily growing pile. And Aranea, for her part, couldn't help but frown at her comment, and could only guess at what Porrim was trying to do. 

“No, but… I… what are you doing with my clothes?”

“A better question I think, would be what are _you_ doing with your clothes.” Porrim returned smoothly as she stepped away, revealing a bare expanse of wall. There were a few articles left on hangers, but by and large, most of Aranea’s clothes were in one of two piles on her bed. She pulled a pair of dark slacks from one, and a pale blue dress shirt from the other, and set the two down together. “I mean, the slacks plus blouse thing is a classic combo, but it’s all smart casual here.”

“Is smart casual bad?“ Aranea couldn’t help but ask. 

Though she’d never given her fashion sense much thought, she liked to think she at least had an idea of what looked good and what worked for her. Porrim had sorted her clothes into piles by type, best she could see - tops and bottoms, and the different kinds of each. A pile of her skirts sat next to her pants and separate from her tops and dresses. She also seemed to have arranged them by style - she’d said something about smart casual; strictly casual clothes, sleepwear, and the like had been sorted to the side.

“Smart casual’s what you wear to a speech and debate meet. Makes you look like a chaperone, or some kind of wannabe librarian.” The dark haired girl explained as she assembled another outfit. “Definitely not what you wear to… well, looking like a librarian in school isn’t… inappropriate, but it makes you stick out, in certain settings. Don’t you have any jeans?”

“I do have…” Aranea pulled a dark pair of denim from the bottoms section. Solidly colored, with muted but distinct stitching, and a straight-leg cut. And another, similar save for the color - these were black instead of dark blue. “..these two. I usually wear them...” she set another button up shirt and a fitted v-neck sweater together. A cap-sleeved blouse and a loose cardigan joined the other two articles and the jeans. She took a few more moments to arrange the clothes before turning back to the dark-haired girl. “With this.”

Porrim stared hard at the ensembles Aranea had set down. They were well-put together, that she wouldn’t challenge. And the blonde had assembled options that also took weather into account. It was all tasteful and appropriate, but frustratingly mundane. Not eye-catching by any means. And she’d already gone through the closet. All that remained were tights and hose she assumed went with the skirts and dresses she’d set aside. She stroked a few fingers over wool and denim, and couldn’t help but shake her head. She girl didn’t even bother suppressing the soft laughter tickling her throat. “Suburban housewife aesthetic. To...well, there aren’t any t-shirts here, but you get what I mean.”

Aranea could only brush a hand through her hair as she gave a soft laugh, and sat on a section of her bed that wasn’t covered with her clothes. “Yeah, well...Just me, my rockstar wife and her crazy friends huddled around a breakfast table arguing about musical theatre. Our dog’s trying and failing to beg for scraps, even though we already filled his bowl with bacon and pancakes. With syrup, of course.” She flashed Porrim a smile. “Considering that, there’s something to be said about domesticity, I think.”

Porrim laughed, nodding. “Yeah, I see your point. And your swinger in-laws are knocking at your door, complaining about not getting invited to brunch?” She mused with a sly smile. “Just another bit of frosting on the sleepy sunday domesticity cake.”

“Swinger in-laws?” Aranea couldn’t help but quirk a brow. “I… you don’t mean…” Immediately, she flushed. They were still young, in the beginning of their relationship and yet, marriage wasn’t an entirely unappealing thing, far off enough as it was, if she’d admit. She glanced Porrim’s way. She didn’t know Meenah’s parents, surely?

Porrim just shook her head at the unvoiced question, and smiled. “Me and Cronus, you goof. You weren’t exactly quiet last night about us being an ‘old married couple’, even if it is kind of true.”

Aranea breathed, and hid her guilty smile behind the rim of her mug. She remembered what Porrim was referring to. Indeed, over the course of the morning, she had been able to piece together the trail-end of the events from the night prior, and the kiss she and Meenah shared was what she was reliving before her friend had visited. “Well, I mean, you two made the daughter comment, so…” Aranea just sipped at her coffee, the cheek in her smile growing as Porrim shook her head. “Yeah. Why, erm, swingers, if you don’t mind my asking?”

She didn’t miss the way Porrim perked up at the question, nor the way she set about putting her clothes back into her closet with gusto. The silence between them grew long until Aranea stepped up and put a bundle of her clothes back into her closet and gave her a meaningful look. 

“Long story.” Porrim replied with a shrug.

“We have time.” Aranea insisted as she put more clothes back on hangers. Her coffee was set aside in favor of tidying up the mess the dark-haired girl had made of her room.

“True, but..… later.” Porrim returned as she put away the last of her friend’s clothes.“Right now, though, we need to get you some things to wear for friday night. And possibly the rest of the semester.” She took in the contents of Aranea’s closet with a calculating eye.

She had nothing especially striking in terms of cold-weather clothes, or anything that would stand up to a stiff autumn breeze outside of her slacks and the dreadfully dull jeans she’d pulled aside earlier. Skirts and tights worked, but again, smart-casual. Or sexy librarian, she mused. No variety, even if they did flatter the blonde’s figure. And there weren’t many articles that layered well, either. Porrim turned her towards the girl by her side. Short nightdresses and oversized sweaters sans pants were a look, to be sure, and she made it work. But as her gaze wandered along Aranea’s legs, she couldn’t help but bite her lip when her eyes caught on the hem of her friend’s dress. A creamy kind of pale, soft cast in the morning sun, her thighs were just begging to be stroked, and she was reaching out before she could stop herself.

Aranea, for her part, was blissfully unaware of the other girl’s hand, until she turned. But, suddenly confronted with an eyeful of Porrim’s chest in close proximity, she couldn’t help but gasp and stumble back, cheeks flushing a violent red. And at the first brush of fingers against her thighs, she swatted out in surprise, hand flying forward. The blow connected.

Porrim looked down to where pale delicate fingers curled against one modest breast and quirked a brow, staring pointedly at the contact before flashing her eyes up to Aranea’s face. Her friend was quick to pull back, half-mumbling and half-screaming an apology before turning away. The bemused smile she gave in turn was sincere - it wasn’t as if she were eliciting these reactions, but that was how her friend responded regardless, and the thought made Porrim laugh inwardly. “Mm, did you get a good feel?” She teased as she cupped her own boobs, honking as she gave them a familiar squeeze.

At that, Aranea’s embarrassment diminished somewhat, and she cracked a tentative smile. She _did_ get a good feel - still the softness lingered in her hand. Porrim, meanwhile was honking away, laughing. But, all the same, she couldn’t let the incident pass, and she took in the other girl’s chest. As far as proportions went, hers and Meenah’s were roughly the same. But for her height, it was likely that they were a bit larger, but not by much. Her figure was still long, almost statuesque, and the kind of lean only genetics in addition to a dedication fitness could provide. Envy stabbed through her chest for a moment before she was pulled out of her thoughts.

“Hey. Touching is free. Looking’s gonna cost you extra.” Long fingers loomed towards her breasts. “Or a little quid pro quo, if you know what I mean.” 

Porrim put on her best lecherous smile and wiggled her fingers over Aranea’s chest, and she swatted them away with ease, though it wasn’t an instinctive reaction. She seemed almost exasperated, and for that, Porrim sighed in relief. And though the awkwardness in the atmosphere was gone, there was something still niggling at her friend, as far as she could tell. She pushed on. “You should probably get changed. Or, just put on some tights.” Her eyes fell then to the blonde’s chest. “And definitely a bra.”

That dismissed whatever it was hanging over Aranea’s head, and she couldn’t help but ask. “What do you mean?”

“I was serious about getting you new clothes. Like, there’s nothing wrong with your wardrobe, exactly, but… you just don’t wear knits to a party. Puke’s almost impossible to wash out of wool.” Porrim explained.

Such was true enough, Aranea conceded inwardly. She’d had her fair share of post-party car rides at night with her mother, her jumper and skirt stinking of vomit, smoke, and alcohol even after they’d rolled all the windows down. The thought saw her mind wander, to one such night.

_The cabin had been lit up by streetlight, the glare of shopfronts, and gentle metropolitan glow of the buildings looming high over head as they drove home in silence. Or at least, she was silent. Her mother, in predictable fashion, was nattering her ear off, and the sound did little to soothe her burgeoning headache._

_Though she’d insisted vehemently that she didn’t partake, some odd ten times in the span of five minutes, she got the sense that her mother didn’t quite believe her. Why even bother going to a party if she weren’t going to cut loose, had been the woman’s reasoning. Never mind parties were a social thing, she’d replied in turn. She went to parties to socialise. And it wasn’t as if she’d not had anything to drink at all, she’d reluctantly admitted. She had a beer at some point over the party’s course, and in a red plastic cup, no less. If that didn’t satisfy some enforced underage drinking quota she was ignorant to, she didn’t know what would have._

_Much to her dismay, that saw her mother drill the dangers of taking drinks from strangers and the importance of testing and knowing your limits into her head for the next fifteen minutes. And predictably, her lecturing degenerated into the typical one-sided one-upmanship they so often slipped into. Tales of the woman’s wild youth, spent drunk out of her mind half-forgotten and half-remembered, assailed her ear for an additional ten minutes after._

_She’d replied with something along the lines of if she was to test her limits, it was best to do so in a safe environment. A dingy warehouse packed full of her less-than-well-meaning peers and the inevitable twenty-somethings looking to get their rocks off was nothing of the sort. She wasn’t that kind of girl, the blonde had declared, and that conducting herself responsibly was what she valued. Life experience came at a cost, and she was sorry if she preferred carefully assessing and weighing the potential consequences that such an exchange entailed to just ‘winging it’._

It was one of the few ‘discussions’ she’d had with her mother that she’d won. The woman had, if begrudgingly, conceded and congratulated her on being such a responsible young adult. She’d also retaliated by grounding her for drinking, and the argument they had was effectively rendered moot. She’d rolled up the windows to spite the woman.

Looking back, Aranea couldn’t help but regret that night, and all the nights she’d spent as a wallflower. Her mother did have a point - why bother going to such things if you weren’t cutting loose? That’s what parties were for. And even if they were primarily social occasions, socialising was something she could very much do outside that setting. It was with that thought in mind that she took a moment to steel her resolve, before rooting through her closet in earnest. “I know. I... I’ll meet you outside in fifteen?” Porrim gave an affirmative nod before heading out the door to get changed herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hurray for tailor-made AU trope-enabling settings, is all I can say. That said, I'll probably update the tags sometime soon, once a little more of the future chapters are nailed down. In the meantime, happy reading!
> 
> Feedback is appreciated :)


	10. The Road to Terrible Fashion Sense is Paved With Good Intentions

One underwear change and a wash-up later, Aranea was rolling up a pair of semi-sheer tights. A deep blue bolero, the watch she’d gotten at her fourteenth birthday, and a locket she’d gotten as a going-away present from an old friend rounded out her ensemble. After giving herself one last once-over in the mirror and fiddling with her hair, she took up her jacket and left her suite. Going through her routine had only taken a few minutes, she was so excited, for lack of a better word, and ance she’d locked her door, Aranea headed down the hall in search of her friend. Excitement gave way to sheepishness as she walked, however. Though she’d affirmed that they were neighbors, she had no idea where Porrim’s suite actually was. It hadn’t occurred to her to ask the girl before she left, either. After one last ditch effort, a few more minutes of fruitless searching, she made her way to the front. Her steps slowed, however, and her breath hitched in her throat when she saw a figure standing by the exit.

Porrim stood, leaning against the wall, mentally going over their itinerary for the day. Latula was already on her way, and though she was able to speak with Meulin, the girl, as usual had turned her down. Like so many times before, their conversation set off alarm bells in her head. She’d tried to make clear that it was only just going to be herself, Latula, and another girl, but Meulin had been insistent, citing something to do with her boyfriend. She’d given up when the conversation turned in that direction. There was nothing she could do about the fact - Meulin deferred to Kurloz; whether it was out of her own volition or not was something she could only speculate, but such was her choice. She could only sigh, and reluctantly turned her thoughts back to the day ahead.

Jeans were top priority - vintage stonewashed denim, and not the solidly colored pants Aranea had shown her. Preferably slim, or even skinny fit, if she could convince the blonde to go that far. High-waisted and or cropped denim would also work, and integrate well into the girl’s existing wardrobe. Porrim stopped for a moment to review what she’d seen of Aranea’s closet. There were a number of pieces that went well either formally or casually styled, it was just that the overwhelming majority of the proper outfits she could assemble were largely formal-leaning. Form-fitting tops were second on her list.

She could hazard a guess as to why Aranea preferred looser tops - they didn’t emphasize or call attention to her figure, especially her chest, as much. But, given the right bearing and attitude, it was an insecurity that could be turned to a point of confidence, even a weapon. Fitted outerwear, sleeveless or otherwise, would work well in that vein. She could just about see it - a layered ensemble, something strappy to accentuate the curve of her neck, coupled with one of her lighter cardigans. If they were worn on their own, they would do well for spring. Alternatively, if worn with a pair of tights, a heavier outer layer, and a scarf, it would work well for fair autumn weather. Porrim grinned. It was a combination that would turn heads as well as entice without being overly provocative - a perfect fit for her friend. Or, quite possibly, stand on its own. A cami for modesty, beneath one of her dresses with a lower-set neckline.. She couldn’t help but lick her lips - it was an appealing image by any mark. But then were the flannels. They were a fashion staple she had to introduce the blonde to.

She’d seen a number of button ups in Aranea’s closet, though nothing made of an appropriate material or style to wear unbuttoned or layered. If worn with a pair of slim-fit denims and a curve-hugging top, she would be set for nearly any kind of weather and any kind of informal setting. And if she elected to wear tights and a dress instead beneath flannel… Porrim smiled in delight at the thought. With the girl’s physique, the possibilities were endless. Her thoughts trailed off when she noticed a figure in white coming closer.

Aranea could only stare. The woman leaning against the wall looked like a model straight out of the fashion zines her old friends back home used to fawn over - long, lean, and a kind of intimidatingly attractive she didn’t comprehend but felt. At the time, she didn’t care overmuch about her clothes and failed to see why they oohed and aahed with such reverence for the pictures, opting instead to chalk it up to their burgeoning adolescence. But now, faced with such a person in the flesh, she understood. A well coordinated outfit worn by someone who made it work commanded attention. Such explained why those friends had taken her shopping the following weekend after purging their closets of all of their clothes from childhood, save for what would work as ‘vintage’. And such explained why the word had been the word of the month among her group. She couldn’t help but inwardly laugh - that was more or less what they were doing today, after all, a few months shy of half a decade later.

Her bemusement at the situation didn’t stick, however. Though she was some odd five meters in the distance, Aranea could just about see her homeliness reflected in the woman’s sunglasses, and felt her eyes, calculating, cold, and most of all, condescending, staring at her behind dark-tinted lenses. An unpleasant fluttering sensation settled in her breast as her hands grew clammy, despite the brisk autumn morning air. But there was no one else around who might have seen Porrim. Tentatively, she approached the woman. “H-hello…”

“There you are!” The dark-haired woman called out. “I’ve been waiting for like, almost ten minutes.”

The woman sent a smile her way, and she could only turn around - surely, she thought, the woman was greeting someone else? When she saw no one else, and as the woman came closer, a the blonde felt a faint sense of recognition. Then, her eyes grew wide. “Porrim?!”

“Mhmm. You’re still wearing that nightdress?” She couldn’t help but ask. Her eyes roved over Aranea’s form appreciatively. The girl nodded, and Porrim groaned inwardly. Dressed in the clothes she slept in, she still looked like a delicious mess. It was less an issue of actual slovenliness in her style, but she got the distinct sense that her friend’s clothes were thrown together in a rush. And the effect was obvious - she looked every bit the bookish girl next door she was. Porrim smiled wider. Aranea had taken her advice literally, it seemed - she was indeed wearing the dress from this morning, coupled with what she assumed was a fresh set of underwear and a pair of tights. “Mmmm..” Porrim grabbed hold of the ends of the bolero and pulled them flush against her shoulders, before smoothing out any remaining creases. Her hands were a blur as she tugged and teased the other girl’s clothes into a proper fit, before stepping back to judge her handiwork. “There. Absolutely stunning.” She beamed.

Aranea, for her part, stood stock still, trying to process what had just happened. Apparently, the woman wasn’t so much a model despite looking like one, as far as she knew. Further, the woman in question wasn’t just some intimidatingly attractive stranger off the streets, some model out and about on the town, but her friend. And for the proximity, the distance so small between them she could just about feel the gentle rise and fall of her chest at each breath, she fought the heat rising behind her face. All the same, she couldn’t help but take in the sight before her. Voice colored with equal parts confusion and awe, Aranea spoke. “You’re just. Wow.”

Porrim fingered the zip of her jacket as she let her smile soften with affected sheepishness. As unbecoming as she found false modesty to be, she couldn’t help but indulge herself in the moment, and returned the blonde’s compliment in kind. “Mm, I make do with what I have.. But you, though.. You look… delicious.” A heat came into her eyes then, as she licked her lips. It went unnoticed by the blonde however, whose attention had shifted from their space to a stone-grey vehicle coming down the road.

The implication of Porrim’s words didn't have time to sink in. Aranea was pulled out of her haze by the sound of a car horn beeping at them and the familiar voice calling Porrim’s name. “What..”

“There’s our ride.” came Porrim’s reply as she stalked towards the car rolling into the parking lot. An orchestral remix of a tune she couldn’t quite recognize blared from the vehicle’s speakers, almost loud enough to hear even through the rolled-up windows.

Latula stepped out of the car, tucking her hair over one ear and looking the other two girls over, before looking down at her own clothes. After a moment further of contemplative silence for her part, she spoke. “Not gonna lie, I am feeling seriously outclassed here.” She muttered as she came closer.

Latula couldn’t help but bemoan her choice of clothes. While the outfit she wore was perfectly serviceable, next to the other two, she stood out like a sore thumb. A preteen thumb with a childish sense of style even if she was in their year and just about as old. Porrim, as per usual, was dressed to the nines and looked like a model about to walk a runway. And the third member of their party filled out her clothes ridiculously well, looking like some blonde sweetheart straight out of a gooey lovefest chickflick, right down to the heirloom pendant she wore around her neck. She tugged at the hem of the double-toned shirt she wore, before jabbing a finger in their direction. 

“You…” Latula pointed at Porrim. Her friend quirked a brow. “And you…” She shifted her finger towards the blonde, who could only look on in mounting confusion. “Can both of you stop looking like you’re taking your edgy pubescent kid sibling out shopping for the first time? Like, seriously.” She snipped off-handedly. “You especially, Ms. Wildersson-nerdfighter…” she stalked forward, until she was little more than a scant few inches away from Aranea, who couldn’t help but shy back.

Aranea glanced to Porrim, brow furrowed in apprehension. The girl only gave her a slight smile and gestured to Latula. The realization dawned on her when she turned back to the bespectacled girl, who was looking at her expectantly. A test of some kind, or a challenge, to see how well she could get along with their group of friends without Meenah, in all likelihood. Her jaw tensed as she contemplated her options. Deriding or dismissing Latula wouldn’t do, nor would turning to Porrim. And confronting the other girl head-on would just drag out this interaction into painful territory. No, a change of mood was necessary, and so, she grit her teeth.

With tentative hands, she cupped her chest and stared the other girl down. “T-These are real!” Aranea declared with an affected, almost over-the-top defiance. She couldn’t hide the crimson bleeding into her pale cheeks as she thrust her chest out towards the bespectacled girl, however, who was visibly off-balanced by the boobs being violently shaken in her face. And Porrim, for her part, had deadpanned, trying not break down in laughter at this turn of events as the blonde shifted her grip to Latula’s hands. She set them against her chest and bade the other girl squeeze. “Feel them!” As hesitant fingers nervously dug into flesh, her breath caught in her throat. The regret Aranea felt surging in her chest at taking this course of action was plain to see on her face - her cheeks steadily grew darker as the seconds ticked on. 

Latula, who was blushing similarly violently even as her hands continued on in their ministrations, was the same, her fingers rolling over the edge of Aranea’s dress and moving over her skin. She was painfully aware of the beginnings of points digging into her palms, and the warmth surging beneath her hands with each breath the other girl took, but stubbornly, she kept on. And just as well, the girl raised no objections.

Aranea spoke, after a moment. Train of thought violently derailed, and the point of the exercise utterly lost on her, however, she had no idea what to say about the bespectacled girl squeezing her breasts. “S..see? Real. And, uhmmm.. Mmhahh..” Each word was punctuated by a confused mewl, and she continued struggling to find her words until she felt the growing telltale tightness against the cups of her bra, made worse under Latula’s assault. A strangled moan issued from her lips as she abruptly arched up into the bespectacled girl’s hands.

There was no mistaking the poking feeling in the center of her hands. Latula jerked away, as though her palms were burned. “C-christ…!”

At that outburst, Porrim’s resolve broke down, and she cackled without care. The old joke that had been tumbling around in the back of her mind had finally risen to the forefront. Images of vampires, angels, virginal maidens, and the kind of terrible prose that announced to the world a deficit of experience with actual sex saw her buckle over helplessly and her shoulders quake. And so consumed by her laughter, she strode forward, trying to make her way to the front passenger side of Latula’s Nissan through her tears. The other two girls followed suit, both of their faces sporting crimson and neither daring to say a word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tiddy ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡° ). Also, cookies to anyone who catches what this awful ditty is referencing.
> 
> Comments and feedback appreciated :]


	11. Blue is a Lukewarm Color

It took the better part of five solid minutes of driving for Porrim to calm down, and an additional five for her to stop giggling completely and regain enough coherence to talk. And it was only then, that Latula spoke. “So. Are we like, going to the Promenade, or…?” She asked tentatively, very much afraid that an errant word would set off another round of raucous laughter. But Porrim’s reply, an errant shake of her head as she brushed a hand through her hair, saw that apprehension give way to annoyance. She rolled her eyes. Of course they weren’t. She should have known - it was Porrim who had arranged this little shindig, after all.

They were going to eschew the convenience of the Promenade in favor of some obscure boutique in the arts district, Latula was sure. Or some hole-in-the-wall thrift store settled in the midst of a plethora of organic free-trade coffee shops and vegan juice bars, or someplace equally gentrified. ‘Supporting local creators and artisans’ her friend called it. Fair-weather liberal hipsterism by any other name, she groused internally. She had to concede the sentiment, though. By and large, the stores at the Promenade were run by corporate schmoozes peddling nouveau new age horsenannery and ‘vintage’ clothes at an obscene mark up. They also probably ripped off the people who designed those clothes in the first place. Better, she thought, to buy from people who sold products they themselves created and controlled their prices personally than patronize profit-chasing middle men. And such worked exceedingly well for her friend's wardrobe. Latula loosed a tired sigh as she turned onto another street. “Mm.. then mind telling me where we’re going?”

Porrim smirked. She made a show of checking the time on her phone and glancing up at the sky. Well before high noon, still plenty of time to get what they were trying to do done and pick up a late lunch. Latula’s thoughts were obvious, and she couldn’t help but want to aggravate her friend. She spoke. “I was thinking of.. Hmm, let’s see…” She pulled up a route to the arts district on her phone for good measure. “.. hitting up this place in the arts district to start. And we can grab lunch at this cafe in the area, and then swing by Hole on the way back.” The smile tugging at the corner of her lips grew wide as Latula’s face fell. Bullseye.

Aranea chimed in, then, with a question. Though she understood that this little outing was for her benefit, she still wasn’t sure what exactly was on their agenda for the day. And the last destination on their list was a complete anomaly. “What’s Hole?”

Porrim turned to the blonde sitting in the back seat. “It’s this super obscure thrift store on the other side of the borough right next to my favorite cafe. You’ll love it.” As she replied, barely suppressed a snicker at Latula’s responding groan.

“You sure you don’t want to check out the music store while we’re at it? Maybe pick up a few albums for your boyfriend’s _vintage_ cd player?” Latula bit out. She’d seen Cronus’ discman a few times, and every time they decided to use it, she was keenly reminded of how utterly ridiculous her friends were, and how committed they were to their pretentious farce of post-adolescent hipness. Fiddling around with technology more than half a century old for the sheer novelty and nostalgia factor was something that didn’t sit well with her for some reason. Though, she had to concede that she kept around an old Wii for the exact same purpose, not that she’d admit it. ‘The wii had revolutionized motion control gaming’ she insisted. But the advent of VR some odd decade after the wii’s first release had made that sect of the gaming industry obsolete. Latula could only sigh and mumble an apology as Porrim sent a confused stare her way - she was still too keyed-up from the incident a few minutes prior, even if Porrim had stopped laughing her head off. She could forgive her friend’s terrible sense of humor, but it was clear the girl was trying to get a rise out of her with the agenda she’d laid out, or at least, she thought as much.

“Ok, were you serious about going to the Arts District? And Hole?” Latula asked.

Porrim just gave a wordless shrug, too absorbed in something on her phone. She called to her friend in the back seat. “How much money did you bring with you today?”

“In cash...fifty dollars… and ten for lunch?” Aranea replied tentatively. She couldn’t help but wring her hands. She was getting the impression that they were going to do more than just buy an outfit for the coming friday, and the thought had her doubling back. If Porrim’s question was anything to go by, then such wouldn’t be enough.

Porrim replied to Latula’s question in turn. “I am. The Promenade isn’t going to have everything on this list to begin with, and definitely not what a hundred twenty five bucks would be able to afford, no offense, Nea.”

Aranea blanched. Hadn’t she just made it clear she only had fifty, maybe sixty dollars at best? “I’m sorry, but did you say a hundred twenty five bucks?”

“Yep. Wait, no.” Porrim began as she fished out a few bills from her wallet. “Make that a hundred thirty five. Lunch is on me today.” she replied with a wink. Aranea, however, was not mollified in the least, and made no move to accept the money the dark-haired girl was handing her.

“Porrim, I can’t accept this. It’s too much.” She stared uncertainly at the cash loosely held in her friend’s hand. Seventy-five dollars was no small sum by any means, especially for a student. And she couldn’t help but seethe at the idea that she was being treated as a charity case. But all the same, Porrim didn’t retract her offer.

“Consider it a gift…” She insisted. “From your mother in law. And maybe incentive to invite us over next time you and my lovely daughter decide to host a sunday brunch.” she quipped with a smile. When the blonde didn’t move, the brightness of her smile waned somewhat, but still she kept it in place and pushed the money into Aranea’s hands. “Look, the band gets paid at least ten times as much per show, so I’ll make it up in no time. And this… it’s the least I can do for a friend. I’m… not very good at a lot of things, but fashion is not one of those things I’m not good at, and that’s what we’re working on today. And the coffee this morning was amazing, and…”

Latula couldn’t help but cut in. “It’s hush money, Blondie. For keeping quiet about this clandestine little outing from MP because she’s gonna flip her wicked shit when she finds out we had a girls’ day out and didn’t invite her.” She quipped half-jokingly. Porrim sent a glare her way, but she pushed on. “And while I am normally averse to taking bribes, this… no real negative consequences here. So just take it.”

Aranea was still hesitant to close her fingers around the wad of cash - again, it wasn’t a small amount. And hush money… she couldn’t help but wonder if Latula was serious in that regard. “Are we not telling Meenah about this? What we’re doing, I mean.”

“I want it to be a surprise.” Porrim quipped with a smile. At Aranea’s confused look, she explained. “Like, she’s seen you in your friday-night best, right?”

Aranea nodded. Her ensemble from the night before _was_ the most eye-catching outfit she could assemble from the clothes in her closet at the time. Or at least, the most eye-catching in her opinion. But considering her partner’s words from before, she couldn’t help but worry. ‘Wine-and-shitty-small-talk-dinner-party dressed up’ was how Meenah had described her choice of clothes. And while she could see nothing wrong with such, her partner had felt the need to get changed, and ended up dressed to kill after a few minutes of going through her closet. If the incident was anything to go by, then it was blatantly obvious that she needed a wardrobe update and a style consult.

“And my friday-night best wasn’t enough.” she mumbled sullenly.

Porrim was quick to reassure her. “Sweetie, no. your friday night best was great. Adorable, even. But my point is… Imagine how your girlfriend will react when you show up to that party dressed dead sexy. Or… maybe not dead-sexy.. but dressed to kill. So traffic-stoppingly hot that people start questioning their sexuality when you just walk by. It’d be one hell of a surprise, right?”

Aranea just shrugged. That she was attractive was something she understood abstractly. But she wasn’t possessed of the long and tall figure that such a conception inspired. And she had a severe case of baby-face. Neither mature nor statuesque, Aranea was sure the kind of attractive Porrim was alluding to was far beyond what she could affect or manage. Unwilling to see this train of thought to its destination, she changed subject as subtly as she could manage.

”But.. The clothes…” Her eyes returned to the wad of cash in her friend’s hand. “Do you really make 700 dollars per show?” She paid no attention to the way Porrim nodded, but couldn’t help but lean back in surprise when the Latula affirmed her words.

“Give or take fifty quid in either direction, maybe more, but yeah.” She turned the car onto yet another thoroughfare before continuing. “Miss Teen Vogue wasn’t lying about us getting fat checks from the band gig, even splitting it four ways. And we do like, a couple shows a month, so that’s pushing 2k. We share expenses too, so as far as the band’s finances go, costs accounted for and considering what we are, we aren’t struggling. And that isn’t even taking into account Cronus’ hookups.”

“Hookups?”

“Too long to go into detail, but pretty much he’s the one who sets the band up with gigs. Or at least, the ones that aren’t sanctioned by the school.”

After her explanation Aranea was less hesitant to accept the cash, and reached out to take it. But before Porrim girl could pull back, she raised a hand, taking the money and putting it away in her wallet. A look of confusion crossed her face then, as she began rooting through her bag. She had her keys and wallet, but something was missing. After a few more seconds of trying to find it, she groaned and slumped back in her seat. “I forgot my phone…” she mumbled. Porrim just waved her own in the air.

“We’re already too far out to go back. Besides, you can always use mine, or Latula’s.”

Aranea nodded turning back to her friend. She contemplated the additional cash in her wallet for a moment, before speaking.

“About the money…” she began tentatively. “You have to let me pay you back somehow.”

Porrim just smiled. “Just keep making my daughter happy, Nea. And again, maybe invite us for brunch. Or at least, invite me.” At that, Aranea rolled her eyes and scoffed, and she couldn’t help cry out in mock indignation. “I’ll even keep the swinger shenanigans to a minimum, promise.” She offered. And when her friend acquiesced, and settled into her seat, Porrim pulled away with a victorious smile.

Latula, for her part could only guess at what Porrim was going on about now. It probably had something to do with some event that happened after she and Mituna had left. But a comment her significant other had made the night before rang back. _“The tit’s Cronus.” he gestured to the violet-eyed boy, who continued to sputter and bemoan. “Porrim, our aunt. she wants to be our mum, but I don’t think she’s that matronly quite yet, I mean, just look at her. Too lissome, yeah?”_ And judging by Porrim’s use of the word daughter - she was referring to Meenah, without a doubt. The bespectacled girl nodded to herself and huffed. It was just in her friend’s character to frame herself as such, unintentionally or no. It wasn’t exactly incorrect - of their group of friends, it was indeed Porrim who had taken on the motherly role. But more rigorously applying the dynamic wouldn’t work out, she mused. Their relationships were messed up enough as it was without adding a pseudo-nuclear familial dimension to everything. That was no reason to not throw a wrench into things, however. Latula grinned.

“But Porrim…” She began in a sing song voice. “I thought you were going to show us how those girls did those things with their tongues.” And for the way Porrim immediately shifted her gaze to her, daring her to edge in a further word, an impish bent seeped into her growing smirk as she continued “You know, like in that one french movie…?” Getting a reaction out of her friend had been her intent, and sure enough, Porrim sent a glare and a wadded up bit of old tissue her way. She wasn’t expecting the resounding pink in the blonde’s cheeks, however. Blondie probably knew a thing or two about how to use her tongue, the bespectacled girl mused internally. “Not that you’d need the practice, mm?” she called back to Aranea.

Porrim pointedly ignored Latula’s comment. French movies and girls doing things with their tongues - there was only one thing she could’ve been talking about, and the thought had her eyes rolling. She paid no mind to the her friend’s snickering however, and looked instead Aranea in the back seat. Cronus had said something about her hair color as coming out of a bottle, and sure enough, the beginnings of dark roots were evident beneath the pale fluff on her head. A knowing smile curled over her lips, then. If the girl was due for a color touch-up, then there was yet another opportunity for her to adjust her look. “Nea?”

Aranea didn’t respond. The thinly-veiled innuendo had put her into an introspective mood. Though she understood the jibe for what it was meant to be, she had no functional knowledge about the matter of course. Meenah was the first person she could think of as a proper significant other, but despite her androphobia, she’d never been physically intimate with any person regardless of gender. It was not as though she’d never had thoughts about such, however. She’d reasoned in the past that those thoughts were less a matter of her curiosity, and more that she’d never experienced so profound a kind of physical intimacy. And so starved for touch, she couldn’t help but let her mind try to satisfy itself with fantasy.

On the other end, very close friendships were something she had a great deal of experience with. The times she’d spent the small hours of the night with one particular girl back home came to mind, and she couldn’t help but finger the pendant around her neck at the thought. It was a parting gift, as though the girl knew that the distance between them would grow to such extent that all either of them would have in the end were their memories. And it was for that convoluted reason that Aranea had so treasured the necklace - it was a memento from the closest thing she’d had to a significant other to date. And though that particular relationship never escalated into anything else, more than once she’d entertained fanciful notions of sapphic escapades in rooms set ablaze by the light of the setting sun. But they were exactly that - fanciful notions. She and that girl had only ever been just friends and nothing more. And those thoughts of intimacy, those fanciful notions, remained unaddressed, and lifeless.

But now though, there was Meenah. Lean curves and sharp smiles and eyes a striking shade of violet, Meenah the Rock Star and her bon vivant friends; her bon vivant friends, now, too. As this morning, she felt the ghost of the kiss they’d shared from the night before against her lips, not cold but warm. As far as first kisses went, it had set a standard and a bar. She couldn’t help but let her imagination run, turning to all the various kinds of things she and Meenah could get up to in that regard, now that they had time. Delicate fingers drawing across warm skin, heated tongues weaving in a deceptively simple dance as they explored each other’s bodies. She sighed, and shuddered in delight at the thought. But then, her train of thought stopped cold.

Meenah had known exactly what she was doing, while she herself had been fumbling in the dark, drunk on the moment. Even back in June, she’d let Meenah take the reins. An uncharted sea of experience laid between them, and she could just about envision herself tossed about by waves of cold disappointment and the helplessness of growing apart, drowning, and ultimately suffocating their relationship. Her eyes flashed up to the dark-haired girl sitting in the front passenger seat, looking at her with concern. Latula had gone quiet as well. And the car wasn’t moving. She’d been so deep in thought that the lack of sunlight didn’t register - they’d been parked for a few minutes now.

“Aranea…?” Porrim called out tentatively.

“S-sorry..!” Aranea bit out suddenly, self-consciousness rearing its head again in that moment. She hastily unbuckled her seatbelt as she spoke “I was… it wasn’t.. The french movie thing. Just… trying to process what’s going on because all I know about today is that we’re buying clothes and I owe you? And I’m just kind of confused.” she averted her eyes as nonchalantly as she could, keeping her tone light after that round of word soup. “Because I don’t really know what we’re doing today, and uhm.. yeah.” She forced a small smile, hoping it would be enough to dissuade her friend's concern. Porrim nodded, slowly going over the day’s agenda once more for her benefit. 

“First stop is the arts district,” She gestured to the shopfronts in the distance. “To check out a few places and see what they’ve got in store. Hopefully they’ll have some things on this list.” At Aranea’s inquiring look, Porrim gently waved her off. “Don’t worry about it. You’ll find out.”

“Porrim…” Aranea frowned.

“Just some things for your closet. I swear.” Porrim insisted. When her friend acquiesced, she continued. “After that, it’s lunch, then Hole, then home. Hopefully we get back early. We need to do something about your hair.”

At that, and the way her hands hands flew to her head, Latula couldn’t help but follow with her eyes. Whether it was a trick of the lack of light, the fact that she was still wearing her sunglasses, or some combination of both, she didn’t know. But there was something off about the color of Aranea’s hair, now that Porrim had mentioned it.

“Your roots are starting to show. You’re about due for a touch up anyway, right?” when she nodded, Porrim continued. “Who normally does your hair?”

“My... cousin, back home...” Aranea began, almost wistful. “I haven’t seen her in a few months, though so… yeah.” she ran her fingers through her hair. It had been quite some time since she last saw Vriska, and she couldn’t help but wonder how the girl was doing. Tall (for her age) and lean, the younger Serket would have struck a chord somewhere between her partner and Porrim, in terms of stature. But whereas she herself was soft and more of a homebody, Vriska was fearless, almost brash, eager to live, and live fast. She wasn’t unlike a certain violet-eyed girl, and Aranea couldn’t help but wonder, if given enough time, the two would be even more alike. Her younger cousin the rockstar. It was an image and thought that made her chuckle at first, but as it sat in her head, the impression it left grew deeper.

While her own relationship with her mother was amiable, if rocky, Vriska and her aunt almost always butted heads, causing a scene whenever it was they visited. And as such, more often than not, it fell to her to fill in the motherly role her aunt didn’t. They were close, to say the least, and while Vriska made plain how little she cared for Aranea’s wallflower demeanor, it was clear how much her cousin appreciated the gentle direction she provided. And Aranea in turn lived vicariously through her younger cousin. Only fourteen and already such a heartbreaker. It wasn’t as though, however, the girl herself never had her own heart broken. She remembered Vriska, bawling in her lap one afternoon.

_“Just… fuck boys. Fuckfuckfuckfuck f-fucking….” the girl sobbed. “Arseholes..” her fingers clenched into the fabric beneath her as she struggled to put an end to her tears. But the fingers gently moving through her hair, the hand soothing away the errant tremors of her tense shoulders, made it that much more difficult. She felt weak, a mess. Vulnerable. But such expressions were far from the norm in her household. At least, for her. Her brother got to cry all he wanted, the little pissbaby. And their mother had never intervened in the same way the woman had for her, nevermind she never actually saw him cry. It was cathartic, to be able to bare herself like this to someone she trusted, even if the person to whom the lap she was crying in belonged to her nagging older cousin. Aranea just smiled placidly, holding the younger girl as she let herself keenly feel the way the girl’s heart tore itself to shreds over another failed relationship._

_“I… won’t patronize you with the whole ‘what doesn’t kill you’ bull, but... “ She paused, carefully parsing her words. “All good things come to pass. And just as surely, the bad things do, too.” Aranea eased the younger girl up out of her lap and turned to face her. “You’ll get over this, I promise. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for. You always have been.” she delicately blotted away Vriska’s tears with a kerchief, before continuing. “These…” she gestured to the wet bit of cloth. “Don’t make you weak, nevermind what Auntie tells you.”_

_The younger girl just sighed, and kneaded at her eyes. She couldn’t suppress the soft sniffle she gave as Aranea pulled her in for a hug. Her arms were limp at her sides for a moment, before wrapping around her older cousin’s middle. She mouthed a silent ‘thank you’ into Aranea’s shoulder before pulling away._

_They’d ended up bleaching her hair the next time Vriska visited. And every three months, like clockwork, on one agreed upon weekend, she sat quietly in the bathroom while the younger Serket applied the stinging solution to her scalp. She’d spend those days listening to her cousin regale her with tales of her adventures in adolescence. It became a ritual, those afternoons. An almost religious observation kept to the best of her ability until she got her acceptance letter from the One Earth foundation._

The last bleaching she’d gotten had been almost a month shy of half a year ago. The color treatment her cousin had subjected her to was still going strong. But now, in the interim, it seemed that her hair was starting to show its true colors, literally.

“You know, I can help you touch up your roots if you want.” Porrim offered. Smooth and lush pale blonde, almost platinum and gradient blue tips, it was a look sure to have all sorts of scarfbeard manbun, v-neck and horn-rimmed glasses types, and just generally anyone into the alternative aesthetic flocking. The thought made her laugh - Aranea parting an ocean of admirers with Meenah at her side like Moses and the Reed Sea was something she wanted to see. “We’d need to pick up a bleaching kit, though.”

Aranea contemplated Porrim’s offer, and tried to remember the things Vriska had used on their last day together. Her thoughts then turned to the money in her wallet. When she’d asked, her younger cousin had said that the whole set up came out to around 20 pounds. She had more than that in her bag, but would what money remained after completing their main objective here be enough? After a moment more of thought, Aranea flashed Porrim a grateful but reluctant smile. “It’s ok. I can just let it fade back. Or wear a hat.”

Porrim immediately shut her down. If what Aranea had said was anything to go by, the color in her hair wouldn’t simply ‘fade back’. This younger cousin had done too good a job for that, considering how well it was still holding up. And though it was cool enough to get away with wearing a hat, it wouldn’t be the case come the spring semester. And more often than not, even in the middle of autumn, there were still days where the weather made no sense - extant temperatures of upwards of eighty-five degrees. Such anomalies, while not common, occurred often enough. “Nea, it’s fine.” she assured her friend. “There’s this beauty supply a few doors down from Hole that sells solid bleaching kits for around twenty-five dollars. And some of the higher end ones can go for as low as thirty-five. A hundred (island money) will be plenty for a wardrobe update.” After setting her sunglasses in place, Porrim gently took hold of Aranea’s wrist, and led her down to where Latula was waiting at the entrance of the parking complex. “So stop making excuses and come on.”

Her friend flashed her a warm smile, and in the light of the noon sun, Aranea found it in herself to return the gesture in kind. She let her hand slip out of Porrim’s grasp, however, and just followed along at her own pace. It was fortunate, she thought, that the other girl seemed much more inclined to take in the sights rather than beeline for the first stop on their agenda. Because so was she.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Potentially dating the fic with this, but alas. Can y'all tell what kind of character Latula's going to be yet? And honestly, there are _way_ too many French movies where girls do things with their tongues.
> 
> Feedback is appreciated :)


	12. My Lawyer Dissuaded Me From Turning This Into A Cooking AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heavy-handed reference to public policy and my cooking kink ahoy

There were bolts and splashes of colour everywhere, given new vibrancy in the bright sunlight. With vividly hued streamers tied to lamp posts billowed freely in the soft breeze, and intricate murals reaching to the topmost floors of the buildings around the square, there was no shortage of color to be seen. Even the shade beneath the sparse trees lining the thoroughfare seemed deeper somehow, and the trees themselves popped with the hues of the leaves. Even the asphalt of the street and the concrete sidewalk beneath her feet just added to the mosaic of color. Aranea let out a low gasp at the sight and could only look on in wonder.

Mouth agape and expression reverent, Aranea’s awe was plain to see on her face. Latula couldn’t suppress the grin pulling at the corners of her lips. She set a hand on the blonde’s shoulder. “Pretty cool, right?”

Aranea nodded wordlessly. Cool didn’t even begin to cover what she thought of the little enclave of colour before her. Dazzlingly bright and vibrant, the arts district seemed heart-poundingly vivacious to her eyes. There was a beat, here, a pulse she could feel down to her bones that was only emphasized not only by the sights greeting her eyes, but also by the low rhythm in the air. Music was playing, different kinds and varying tempos culminating in a sublime cacophony she couldn’t discern. The immediate area gave off such a sense of life she couldn’t help but let her heart soar. Even the air seemed fuller, cleaner. It was nothing like the dull monotony of her south London hometown, where everything was washed grey by overcast skies and the wizened fronts of buildings, blanketed by thick smog. She turned to the bespectacled girl beside her, and a low feeling of tightness abruptly throbbed in her chest. Latula was grinning, but her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. There was a grimness there she couldn’t place, evident even beneath her bright expression. And she could only guess as to its cause. Hesitantly, she spoke. “Latula…?”

Latula just waved her off, and instead gestured to Porrim, who already had made her way a few meters down the street and was motioning for them to follow. She smiled knowingly. Despite the awe she’d exhibited, it seemed Aranea had picked up on her thoughts. More observant than she had given the girl credit for, she mused. The sound, the colour, for all the glamour they held, didn’t touch her to the same extent they did Aranea, and her eyes carefully took in everything. Throngs of people, an array of colors deep, bright as well as dark, juxtaposed against gleaming white caught in sunlight. Just how much more observant was she, Latula wondered rhetorically. After a moment further of contemplation, she followed, catching up to the two.

Their group was mostly silent, though Latula and Porrim engaged in occasional chattering. Aranea, for her part, was still taking in the sights, but a frown of disquiet creased her lips when they arrived at the first intersection. The buildings here were shabbier than those just outside of the parking garage, though there were still splashes of color interspersed throughout the scenery. However, there was a worn quality to the streamers tied to the poles here, and the poles themselves didn’t look as well-maintained. The paint had begun to chip, and in some spots were completely absent, revealing the dull grey sheen of metal beneath. Even the building length murals decorating the thoroughfare were grittier, veiled in a thin layer of dirt.

As opposed to the gleaming spires in the distance from the parking garage, squat wide-faced buildings loomed just beyond the reach of color, faded and worn as the rest of their surround. The shade cast by their shapes wasn’t as dark, visually, but despite the noontime sun, such made them less distinct. Latula slowed in her steps, until they were walking side by side. That same disconcerting grin still sat on her face, all teeth, lips pursed, as though she were about to speak and was just trying to find her words. “Yes..?” She encouraged tentatively.

“You’ve probably already noticed, but it’s different here, isn’t it?” Latula began. When Aranea nodded, she continued. “Everything’s sort of… dirtier and a little more run down..” She gestured to the concrete beneath them. As opposed to the flawless sidewalks from before, the pavement here bore long cracks, the edges of them rubbed smooth they’d been left unaddressed for so long. Again, Aranea nodded tentatively, as though she did understand her words but couldn’t quite get the gist of them. She pointed in the direction of the parking garage, some few hundred feet away, and to the buildings in the distance.

“Business district.” Her finger shifted from the buildings to a large complex looming off in the distance. “And that’s the Promenade. The streets there are just as clean.” Beyond those words, Latula said nothing else, and left her to puzzle out their meaning.

Aranea, for her part, only looked on as Latula moved to walk beside Porrim, and a strange feeling grew in her chest at the sight. Back and forth, their hands moved, even as they exchanged words, touches and glances, smiles, glares and other expressions. There was an unguarded familiarity between them, and had she not known better, she would have thought the two sisters, their interaction seemed so unforced. Unlike with her, she couldn’t help but think. Even as amiable and accommodating as Porrim was, it was clear that there was a distance between them, albeit less obvious than that between herself and Latula. It made sense, considering she’d known them for all of a week and part of a month. And yet, she’d been treated with such goodwill - she remembered, not for the first time since this morning, the fact that they were here because of her.

Her mind boggled at the thought. It was markedly different from her friendships in England, where only the fact that the girls she’d understood to be her friends were girls she’d known all her life. And for that reason and nearly no other was why they were friends. The safety of familiarity, of old faces and new years passed without care or second thought - those were the things her friendships had been built on. But looking at the two girls walking in front of her, she couldn’t help but think if those friendships were friendships at all. Latula was from Essex and Porrim, from her accent, was most likely not from Essex. 

A world had stood between them. But put into a shared space, a shared life, they’d bridged that distance, becoming as close as sisters as far as she could see, and green tinted her vision. It gave way to white after a short moment as the static in her ears faded away and the sound of the world around her came back into clarity. Her focus broadened to the streets and buildings looming forth and high. The further along they went, the more dilapidated and rundown their surroundings became, until the clear sounds from the area of the parking garage faded away altogether. The air wasn't still, however. 

Curious smells accompanied equally curious sounds, and Aranea couldn’t help but prick up her ears and look up from the ground. The heady scent of curry and the fragrance of cilantro were the most familiar to her nose. Onion, garlic, and ginger mingled with spices she couldn’t name, and more strangely, citrus undercut by chili, was another set of scents she could just about discern. Sage and rosemary, fennel, anise, and other herbs accompanied the smell of cooking meat, though there were no restaurants in the immediate vicinity. 

Aranea couldn’t help but glance around, trying to find the source of the scents accosting her nose. Just as well, she couldn’t discern the source of the music singing in her ears. But as her gaze darted about, newly focused, she was stunned by the sights flashing before her eyes. Gone was the affected disarray, the sedate disorder of what she’d seen just outside the parking garage and the area around it. Genuine bustle, lives being lived sincerely instead of now vague and faceless people out and about shuffling around town, swirled around her. And when Latula called out to her, she hurried her pace. 

They were almost at the end of the block, and Porrim was nowhere to be seen, likely to have disappeared into the store behind her. She was smiling. That was the first thing Aranea noticed as she approached. An actual smile, rather than the sharp crescent of teeth her face bore some few minutes ago. Tentatively, she spoke.

“So… the business district’s over there..” She thumbed in the direction they came from. The other girl nodded. “What district is this?” Aranea asked as she motioned to the buildings around them.

“We’re still in the arts district.” Latula replied. “But this side’s where it overlaps with the warehouse district. And a little further that way is industrial.”

“Mm… I was wondering about that, actually. It’s like you said, everything’s a little dirtier here.”

Latula nodded. That was the word she’d used to describe the area they were in, but it was the best way she could think to articulate her point. “Mhmm. Do you know why?”

Aranea gave a contemplative hum, but after a moment of thought, she came up with no answer. “No, not really.” There was little difference in the architecture, but such didn’t explain why the street leading up to the business-district side were cleaner and better maintained.

“It’s the Promenade, which is where the commercial district is. Commercial’s where business, recreational, and residential overlap. More people...shop there, I guess. Part of it’s proximity, but… lots of civilian traffic. People from that side of the borough like things nice and clean, white and neat. I can understand it, but… you see how it is.” Latula gestured first to the broken streets, then to the worn street lights, and finally back to the buildings around them. “City maintenance has weird priorities, considering more people live in this area than on that side. Makes more sense to me to put in more effort towards.. beautification, I guess, in an area where people actually live than shiny malls and places that ultimately end up less populated at the end of the day.”

Aranea furrowed her brow at that explanation. As she let her mind work through her thoughts, so too did her feet move. “But you said it yourself, though. Lots of pedestrian traffic. Means more… wear, I guess. More trash to clean up. And… such means more effort towards maintenance where… I don’t know how to put it, but you understand what I’m getting at.” She began. “Clean harder where it can be dirtier. This place… it feels and looks lived in. You said dirty, but.. It’s probably really iffy if I put it this way, but… the business district, the color there. It’s affected. Artificial. I mean, I don’t mean to say that life is dirty, but… it isn’t neat. This area doesn’t… it’s not as glaringly gentrified like the business side.”

At that, though she was heedless of the fact, Latula’s smile grew a touch wider. “I will concede, though, that City maintenance could do better to put more effort in- “ Aranea stumbled forward as her foot caught on an edge of cracked concrete. “Ugh, keeping the streets in good in repair for one.” Her gaze shifted then, to the buildings across the street, and to the long murals decorating the side.”Maybe pass some zoning regulations and such. The smog’s not doing wonders for the murals here.”

Latula went silent. Definitely much more observant than she’d initially given her credit for. Though it was more of a wandering ramble, Aranea’s assessment had touched on a number of issues and points she’d been trying to integrate into her argument for the first official practice of the semester. Her most developed argument regarding the disrepair of the area of the arts district overlapping with the warehouse and industrial districts were that people lived there. Cleaner and better kept streets and buildings were a priority in preventing urban decay. Addressing gentrification was another. And while Aranea had understood how gentrified the area near the business and commercial districts were, it was framed so as to undermine the necessity of dealing with the industrial overlap. And neither had she touched on the potential public health concerns of the smog coming in from the district in question aside from suggesting putting zoning regulations into practice. Largely coherent, but at best, it was a topical analysis. It was understandable - this was a casual conversation, not a forum or discourse after all. Her potential was evident, however. After a moment of thought, Latula spoke.

“Blondie?” she began.

“Hmm?”

“You haven’t signed up for any extracurriculars yet, right?” she asked.

Aranea shook her head. As far she understood, though it had been almost a month into the semester, there hadn’t been a club days announcement yet. “No, not yet. What begs the question?”

“I’m part of the Speech and Debate team in school. We need new blood. I was wondering that, if you maybe wanted to check us out… I could talk to the advisor and get you a pass to attend the first practice.” Her eyes carefully assessed Aranea’s expression. There was piqued interest there, but also hesitation. Stage fright or performance anxiety, probably. And possibly another number of things. ”You could just observe, but it’s not gonna be like, a one on one debate thing, more of a forum. So, you could totes participate.” Her expression became much more receptive upon hearing those words. Latula smiled inwardly. “Interested?”

Aranea gave a tentative nod, as though she were considering it. She was, by all accounts. Just that her studies were plenty enough of a drain on her free time. “Speech and debate…how often do the members meet up?” She couldn't help but ask - whether or not she’d be able to add an extracurricular to her list of engagements depended on scheduling.

“Most of us share a few classes, so we only officially meet up twice every other week. And scheduled events...it depends. There’s a bi-monthly interdistrict meet run by the Island Academic commision, but beyond that, it’s usually up to the borough to coordinate anything else.” Latula explained. “Worried about your other bits?”

Aranea laughed weakly and gave a nod. “Yeah. My schedule’s kind of… tight this year.” At the other girl’s raised brow, she was quick to clarify. “Not… not because of extracurriculars, or anything like that, but… advanced classes and homework. I’m also kind of pants at maths and stuff, so I self-study often. Keeping up with the material takes up a lot of my time.”

Latula couldn’t help but give her friend a commiserating pat on the back. She knew just how rigorous academia could be on the island, having experienced it first hand - she’d nearly crashed and burned her first semester here. As she tried to think through the blonde’s issues, Latula’s thoughts turned back to the club, particularly towards one of the newer members.“You know, there’s this guy…” she began. “His presentations are mostly about social psychology and stuff, but he’s taking an advanced maths class. I could hook you up if you need tutoring?” the girl offered. “And like I said, we only officially meet up every other week, so you guys could get together and study in the inbetweens? That would still be a lot of free time to get work done on your own.”

Though she didn’t find the idea of asking for help from a total stranger particularly intriguing, Aranea couldn’t help but admit that she had no real reason to decline outside of personal inclination. Further, it was a chance to expand her social circle and meet up with a possibly like-minded peer. She could only hope that he was like Cronus and Mituna, in the sense that neither set off her anxiety or androphobia. Though, that might have been because both boys were already involved with other people.

“What can you tell me about him?” She couldn’t help but ask. “Like, does he get on well with other people, how he is with the other members of the club, and all that.”

“Hmm…” Latula thought about the boy in question. “He’s… a lot like you, actually.” it was hilariously true. She could very much imagine him and Aranea in coordinated outfits - slacks or khakis, a button up and a sweater in contrasting color. “A little on the quiet side, but once you get him to relax, he’s pretty chatty.” she explained. “ As for how he is with the other people in the club, he gets along well enough. A little distant, but polite. Or distant because he’s so polite. Either or. No one really has any issues with him, save that his presentations are.. A little beyond the depth of some people. But that’s more because of what they’re about.”

Aranea nodded. A kindred spirit, best she could tell. But mutual anxiety was an issue. If neither of them could relax, then the entire thing might prove to be an exercise in futility. She wouldn’t know until she met him, though.

The pair were pulled out of the train of their conversation by the third member of their party, who had been trying to get their attention from inside the store for some odd few minutes now. Porrim stepped back out onto the street, striding up to the girls, before bearing down on both with a withering stare. “I’ve been trying to get you guys inside for like, an hour. What the hell is taking you so long?” She asked acidly.

Latula returned her stare with a steely determination, not deigning to speak. It was perfectly in character for Porrim to be obtuse. But despite the fact, she’d not let such rudeness pass. After a moment more of glaring daggers her friend’s way, she spoke. “School stuff.” At that, Porrim pointedly rolled her eyes, and she scoffed in turn. “And it’s only been like, five minutes at best. So calm your glorious tits, oh wondrous one.”

“I’ll calm my tits when you get yours in gear. We’re burning daylight.” Porrim snipped back, a little less venomously this time. At least they weren’t intentionally wasting time to piss her off. “Not to mention, it’s the weekend. School talk can wait until like, we don’t have a shitton of things to get done for today.”

“Literally all we’re doing is shopping. And maybe getting a bleaching kit or something. What’s so important about that?” Latula returned, not willing to back down.

“Says the girl in canvas sneakers and skinny jeans. What are you, like thirteen?”

Latula couldn’t help but bristle at the comment. “Hey! They’re comfortable. And skinny jeans flatter my _lean womanly curves_.” Porrim wouldn’t be able to argue against function - canvas sneakers were by far easier to walk in than the heels the dark-haired girl wore, even if they did make her look long and leggy. It wasn’t as if she needed the help, though.

Aranea flashed a glance at Latula’s bottom and conceded out loud. “It’s true. Her ass does look amazing in them.”

At that, Latula couldn’t help but laugh, and brought her hand up for a high five, bringing it crushing down as her friend brought her own to bear. The resounding slap echoed through the street, and Aranea let out a pained yelp and cradled her hand. “You heard it here. The resident lesbian thinks my butt is hot.”

At that, Porrim spluttered, and grumbled. That was indeed one of the benefits of a good pair of fitted bottoms - the material flattered curves exceedingly well. Just that the shoes the bespectacled girl wore them with made her feet look boxy, and her legs short. Overall, though, the color scheme of her ensemble worked. She stalked around to the other girl’s behind, and sighed in defeat.

Latula just arched her back primly, and pushed her bottom in Porrim’s direction. “Admit it. Skinny jeans make my butt look amazing. And I make the trashy trainers thing work.” Porrim just scoffed and rolled her eyes, but made no attempt at refuting her words or intoning a returning barb. Instead, she stressed the time.

“Yeah, whatever. But we’re still like, just literally standing here. We have a lot to do today. And before you say anything else,” she cut off Latula’s retort. “Style takes time. Time we’re wasting admiring your hellaciously choice ass.”

“Time well spent.” Beyond that, Latula said nothing else, and purposefully strode into the store, leaving the other two to watch her swaying behind. Aranea gently took up Porrim’s hand and followed suit, offering the girl a consoling smile. The dark-haired girl begrudgingly accepted the expression, but pulled her hand out of Aranea’s, opting instead to wrap her arm around the girl’s elbow. Without a further word, the two entered the store.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mmm, Speech and Debate _and_ advanced maths? This guy sounds like a nerd. I know Redglare was more or less the Alternian equivalent to a lawyer, but Latula being in Speech and Debate _and_ more read up than your average joe on critical theory and public policy works as a little homage to her character, right? No? Just Me? Ok... :')
> 
> Feedback is appreciated :)


	13. Jolie En Rose, En Violet, En Noir

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heavy-handed references to my, at best, topical understanding of fashion, part deux. Ahoy!

“You know, Latula did have a point..” Aranea began tentatively as she combed through the racks. “I… somewhat understand why dressing well is important, but, I have to ask. Why-”

“Why am I so anal about fashion and style?” Porrim finished. 

“Not exactly how I’d have put it but…” Aranea let her words trail off, nodding as she held a blouse up to her chest and assessed the fit. On the billowy side, rather than body hugging. 

Porrim just sighed as she handed Aranea a different top, this one much more form-fitting. “You’ve heard of La Reine en Violet?”

Aranea nodded hesitantly. The words were familiar - french for ‘the queen in violet’. But she couldn’t pin down why they sounded so familiar. Vriska came to mind, as did another girl, an upperclassman from Wildersson who had been the envy of the girls above her year and an idol to the girls in hers for her taste in clothes. Everyday, she’d been treated to an earful of gushing by her classmates about how prestigious the brands she wore were. Personally, she thought the girl didn’t look like an eleventh-year student who had been going to public schools all her life, as she’d professed. Rather, she seemed more of a celebrity, like some grown-up child actress who had been made by her parents to attend public school for the purpose of ‘keeping their daughter grounded’. It was as much an effect of her clothes as well as her bearing, and looking at the dark-haired girl in front of her, she couldn’t help but draw a comparison. Statuesque, graceful, like poetry written by some long-dead old man, in motion. Couldn’t hold a candle to her would-be paramour, was all she’d thought at the time.

“Mm… distantly. It sounds familiar, but I don’t really know.”

“It’s this fashion studio based out of Montreal.” Porrim explained. I…” Her voice grew soft, then, almost as though she were apprehensive about anyone besides the two of them hearing what she was about to say. “..have a younger cousin who’s a big fan of their designs.”

Aranea nodded. That… wasn’t what she was expecting. Neither did it explain Porrim’s proclivities. She just looked on, giving the other girl an inquiring look. 

“My mother’s… also..” 

Her friend’s words were slow to come. There was a tension to her form, and the anxiousness the girl felt was almost palpable, but couched in a carefully affected cool. There was also an odd wistfulness in her eyes, as though she were lost in some old memory. Aranea spoke. It wasn’t particularly hard to follow her train of thought or the pattern to their conversation.

“Your mother’s also a big fan?” She ventured. Her brow furrowed at the sudden burst derisive laughter that issued from the other girl’s lips. And when Porrim spoke again, there was a solidness to her words, a kind of determination whose reason she couldn’t discern, and a bitter resignation that had her recanting.

“I should hope so. She’s the studio’s lead designer and majority stockholder.”

Oh. Well. “Looking to follow in her footsteps then?”

Porrim just ran her hand through the thicket of her hair, twirling one errant lock around her fingers as she shook her head. The wistfulness Aranea had picked up on became a thoughtful pensiveness as her eyes scanned along the racks. After a moment, she shrugged.

“Kind of. But also, kind of not.” Porrim began. “She started out as a corporate intern in college, and after graduating, she signed on. Worked her way up through the ranks to middle management on the business side of things.”

“Wait, I thought she was-”

“She is. She didn’t start out that way, though.” Aranea said nothing else, opting instead to wait for her to continue.

Porrim closed her eyes, and sighed as her hand fell from her hair to her hip. Why it was that she was suddenly giving a biographical account of her mother’s life, she didn’t know, but it was all she could do. A storm of butterflies flared to life in her chest, brought forth by the familiar and unpleasant memories resurfacing in her mind. Her jaw clenched, a knot began twisting in her throat, and despite her best efforts at keeping her muscles loose, her fingers were curling and uncurling at her side. Tension sang in every fiber of her body, and she was beyond tempted to cross her arms over her chest, like she’d so often done in the past. And as the seconds of silence drew on, the knot in her throat swelled into her head, the heat of tears pricked at her eyes.

Her chest seized as the years she’d spent at her mother’s knee flashed in her mind.  
____

_She is five years old and going to work with her mother._

_At first, she is terrified. Scared, even, of all the adults around her. Though there aren’t many, maybe ten at the most, they’re so much taller than her and even her mother, who is the tallest adult she knows. But she can’t help admire the way her mother commands their attention. It’s respect, she comes to understand, what they have. All the adults give her candy, sometimes fruit, and one even gives her cake. She’s buzzing with sugar by the time lunch rolls around, and when the afternoon comes, she’s too tired to watch them._

_Black sharp-pressed suits and pointy shoes, the color stark and painful to her eyes under the glaring fluorescent lights. Lean calves encased in stockings, and flurries of paper, people, and perfume too strong for her young nose to appreciate. Women, always women, drawn in charcoal and pastels, long and lean. Concept sketches. Those same sketches thrown to the floor, a trash bin full of crumpled paper and a thick sketchbook limned with tabs and sticky notes. Mascara tears and anguished sobbing. Pale skin and fair hair, brown hair and blue eyes, red and green, brown and black. It eventually becomes impossible to discern one woman from another as they all leave her mother’s office crying. She offers them her bear, but they don’t take him, and only smile down at her, and hug her. She doesn’t get candy or cake or fruit after that for awhile, however._

_On one day, one woman does. Her hair is very brown, like chocolate, and shiny like silk. And even though she has such a pretty smile, her eyes are not. They’re terrifying, somewhere between yellow and green and brown, and ringed with black that runs down her cheeks because of her tears. Her bear is in the woman’s hands before she understands and the woman rips his head off. Her name is a curse on the woman’s lips, and she cries as she’s pushed to the floor, her bear thrown too far for her to reach._

_She doesn’t understand much of what happens next, when her mother arrives, who pulls her up and ushers her away. She knows only that her mother is furious. So is the woman with the shiny hair and black around her eyes. They yell and scream at each other and their words become so violent she’s afraid they might start hitting each other. No one on the floor dares to say a word as they do. The woman’s words become poisonous after some time, calling her mother all sorts of icky, mucky things. But when her mother next speaks, it is with finality. After some men in suits come in through from the elevator, the woman begins crying again. She begs, but her mother doesn’t do anything as the men in suits take the woman away._

_She flinches when she feels a hand settle on her shoulder, but when something soft is pushed into her arms, she can’t help but cry again - what remains of her bear. Torn thread sticks out from his neck and from between his shoulders, and she can see into him, white fluffy gore. Everyone is quick to brush her tears away and hold her gently. Their words are soft, and after awhile, she stops crying. Everyone goes quiet when her mother comes through, parting the crowd, and so is she. Her mother thanks all the adults even as she cries. But her mother is smiling._

_The adults start giving her sweets again after that._  
____

Aranea could only listen on, wide-eyed. Juggling a career with raising a child was no mean feat - her own mother had borne her well after she’d settled into her tenure. “She must be an amazing woman.”

Porrim nodded, a too-crooked smile twisting over her lips as she held a top against her friend’s chest. Too low cut for the size. “Yeah.. I..” There wasn’t much else she could say. Her mother _was_ an amazing woman. But _never_ above reproach or critique. She was human, after all, and as such, flawed. She remembered long-fingered hands stroking through her hair, and the scent of rosewater. Masala chai and the heat of ginger accompanied the swelling warmth in her chest but she stubbornly beat it down. The memories came unbidden with a rush of emotion, regardless.  
____

_It’s warm for a late autumn night. The smell of saffron and parsley are heavy on the wind, and so is her mother’s voice, singing lullabies in a language she had yet cared to learn. A second, low but musical, insinuates itself into the melody and her mother’s breathy laugh is stark even through the burgeoning haze of her sleep. They’re all squished together on the couch, tired after celebrating her mother’s promotion, and after everything they’ve been through, the breathlessness she feels is welcome. It isn’t the kind quick to follow after her tears start to fall, when she hears her parents arguing in the living room loud even through her closed bedroom door. It’s because she’s stuffed so full of roast lamb and homecooked pilaf that her stomach slightly bulges out her shirt that she’s breathless in this moment. Or it might be because, for once, their household is genuinely peaceful. They’re not just experiencing an eye in the metaphorical storm of stress her mother’s job so often brings, and she’s forgotten what it was like to breathe in such peace._

_Or maybe it’s a combination of both. All she knows is that things aren’t tumultuous, that things are calm, and she is happy and content._  
__  
_  
The next night she’s as breathless, is cold. Frigid on the cusp of summer, though that might be because of her mother’s glacial silence and the third chair at the dining table. It’s empty, and has been for a few months now. Dinner tonight is chinese, lumpy meat and noodles so greasy they feel like slime in her throat when she swallows. Not that it matters, it’s coming back up anyway, given a few minutes. If only her mother would stop with this pregnant silence nonsense and tell her what she already knows, that is._

_“The divorce papers have been finalized. Your father… I know you two were close..” ‘No shit, he’s my father’ she thinks acidly. It’s not a thought she cares to intone, however. Her mother lost the privilege to her thoughts long ago. The rest of the woman’s words are lost on her, save a few. “I have primary custody.”_

_She nods, and quirks an impudent brow as though she’s genuinely surprised and not just bemused at the revelation. Her mother doesn’t care for her insolence, but says nothing, just cradles her face in her hands. They’re beautiful, and terrible. Flawless golden brown skin stretched over long fingers, delicately tapered and tipped with well-kept and manicured nails. Clear polish, because it’s the most professional. How it is those hands are so graceful is something she wonders when all she knows of them is how hard they hit and how firmly they grasp - they’ve beaten her heart and torn her life to pieces. But she understands. Her mother, has sacrificed much - her marriage, her peace of mind, and countless nights home thick and heavy with soul-healing domesticity and sedateness. Such was why her father left, and while she can't fault him for his choice, neither can she fault her mother for her efforts._  
____

“Porrim, I…” Whether it was sympathy or pity simmering in her breast, Aranea didn’t know. And though she couldn’t quite relate, how terrible a thing it is for a young girl to experience what Porrim was recounting was perfectly evident. And despite hearing it only second hand, her heart ached terribly. She held out a hand to her friend, who gingerly pushed it away as she shook her head.

“Just… stop right there.” Porrim bit out, voice wavering. “Don’t...I don’t...” She grimaced. It was an event long buried, an artifact of her past, and yet here she was, ruining a morning’s worth of work with her tears. After taking a moment to calm her breath and soothe the ache of wounds torn open again, Porrim spoke. “It’s not something you can do anything about. It’s in the past.” Aranea gave her a tentative look. She just shrugged, blotting away the tears from her cheeks. “Anyway, yeah. That’s my sob story.”

“Porrim, it isn’t just-”

“The point of which,” She cut in, politely but pointedly ignoring her friend’s words. “Is that fashion’s always been part of my life, in one way or another. Like, you spend a decade taking piano lessons, makes sense that playing piano means more to you than it does some random stranger off the street.”

Aranea nodded. Porrim wasn’t looking for sympathy, that much was obvious. And it was clear any overtures of the sort would not be welcome in the moment. “I… understand. That, I mean. But given your, uhm, experiences, i would’ve thought that you’d hate fashion.”

“You said it yourself. Dressing well can be important. That’s… god why is it so fucking hot…” Porrim violently shucked off her jacket before continuing. “That’s one of the things my mom taught me growing up. Fashion… there’s power in fashion. It’s an industry. It’s a livelihood for people. A passion…it’s something that can tear people apart as much as put them together and keep them hoping and alive.” Porrim gave a tired sigh as she pulled another blouse from the rack. After a quick assessment, she handed it to her friend, who accepted it without question. “Fashion isn’t just a bunch of skinny white girls walking down a runway in clothes that don’t make any sense. No offense.” a small burgeoning smile tugged at the corners of her lips, then, and her friend couldn’t help but return it in kind.

“None taken.” Aranea laughed softly. “But… I do have to ask..” she held the top to her chest, and noted with trepidation how low-set the neckline was and how tightly it would cling to her curves. Everything in her arms courtesy of Porrim were of a similar fit. “Why are all of these so… um.. form-fitting?”

‘Curves like no one’s business and amazing boobs.’ was the reply in her head. It was certainly true, but Porrim bit it back. “Layering.” She began instead, once she was sure she wouldn’t go to pieces again, after giving Aranea a once-over. “Like, this.” She gestured to her own outfit. A black shirt with a cropped neck and the sides cut open and hemmed; beneath, she wore a deep red, almost skin-tight tank.

It was a good look, Aranea admitted, but she didn’t have the kind of toning such a look flattered best. Nor did she understand what the girl meant by layering, in this instance. “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

Porrim sighed. “Ok, so… generally form fitting clothes emphasize or draw attention to the person’s shape, right?” She began as she started pulling the tucked-in ends of her shirt up from under her waistband. After pulling it up over her head and shaking her hair free, she gestured to her chest, middle, and sides. Dark red cloth stretched across her curves and over her modest but shapely bust, and Aranea felt herself blushing at the sight. When prompted again, she nodded wordlessly.

Porrim, for her part, just smiled and pulled on a long sleeveless vest from one of the racks nearby. She closed the lapels over her middle, and took care not to cinch it too tightly. “And looser fits hide them, like so.” Though the garment draped over the protruding parts of her form, by and large, the material obscured her curves. “The idea with this kind of layering is to create contrast using differently-fitting clothes for a more dynamic effect over all. But the actual effect can be applied without layering, it’s just a matter of fit. A lot of your clothes don’t layer well in the same way.”

The heat in Aranea’s face had faded somewhat, but her cheeks were still pink. “I… I see.” she nodded, before bringing a thoughtful thumb between her lips. She looked down at her own clothes with new eyes. “But what about what I’m wearing now?”

Porrim’s eyes glittered at the question. “Like I said, not a lot of your clothes do. But this..” she gestured to her friend’s dress and the way most of the bodice conformed to the slope of her breasts and part of her middle. “does. While the top part fits against your figure, the skirt drapes over bottom half and hides the curves there.. And your sweater does the same thing, like the layering thing I told you about.” She explained as she stepped closer, fingers dancing along Aranea’s shoulders, before drawing delicately down her arms. “A little loose around the chest area but more form-fitting along the sleeves. You can actually add a little more contrast by pushing them up. That adds volume.” Porrim could see the gears turning in Aranea’s head, and her own pride at the fact was plain to see on her face. What she’d just told the girl was yet another one of the lessons her mother had taught, her, and one she’d learned early. The thought brought a welcome warmth to her chest, and she couldn't help but wonder if this was how her mother felt when she was younger, just soaking in everything the older woman had taught her. “You can also create contrast with color, like warm versus cool, light and dark, and so on.”

“I… think I’m starting to understand what you said. About fashion not being just skinny white girls on runways and weird clothes, I mean.”

Porrim couldn’t help but laugh, and nodded. “Yeah. It’s art. It’s intellectual and communicative… a creative endeavor. And not enough people understand that.”

“True enough. That said…” Aranea’s mind flashed back to her closet. Porrim had said something about most of her clothes as being more smart-casual than anything else. “You said that most of my clothes are smart casual. May I assume that there’s a, I guess, regular kind of casual?”

Porrim tilted her head, contemplating her friend’s question. “That… that’s where the aesthetic part comes in. Like the difference between formal and casual, the different kinds of casual… it’s about what effect you want your clothes to have, as far as style goes. Different strokes, different kinds of settings, and what would be appropriate in a given setting. Like say, office casual is the most appropriate in an office setting. You wouldn’t wear a clubby dress to work, and the like.”

“And my clothes don’t really work in a casual setting? Or a party setting, you mean?”

She tentatively shook her head. “In a way, yes. But also, that’s not just how I’d put it. Clothes are designed with function in mind, too. And it’s… also in part, to do with practicality. Like knits don’t wash often well, and so on, so wearing them to a party is kind of impractical because.. Puke’s a bitch to wash out, like i said before. And knits are generally designed to be worn in, like, a giant cozy living room with a blazing fireplace or on some chilly fall evening or something.” the dark haired girl gave a thoughtful hum before continuing. “With your clothes, it’s like.. the overall effect they give in an ensemble works better for a setting where... it’s…” Porrim ran her fingers through her hair as she loosed a tired sigh. “It’s more complex than what i can explain in a short conversation.”

Aranea conceded that point. It was abundantly clear that Porrim had a lot of things to say about the subject, and far be it from her to keep someone from gushing about something close to their heart. And it was obvious now how much the endeavor meant to her. A sly smile curled over her lips then, however. She recalled a dismissal of her inquiry this morning, into what the girl meant by swinger in-laws, and how Porrim had just brushed her off at the time. Possibly not as emotionally charged, but intriguing nonetheless.

“Speaking of which…” She began. “You never told me about what you meant by swinger in-laws.”

At that, Porrim’s casual expression blanked. Her cheeks flushed with heat as she turned away. “We’re talking about clothes, not… that.”

“We’re talking about things that may be more complex than what can be explained in a short conversation.” Parry, and return. Aranea smirked. “Come on…” She insisted. “You said you’d tell me..”

“Tell you what?” A third voice chimed in. Latula strode up to the two, looking bored out of her mind. Her eyes flashed from Aranea, who was carrying a number of articles in her arms, to the other girl. Porrim tugged the second layer of her top back on and plucked her jacket up from where it lay draped over the racks. The latter was quick to intervene when Aranea began answering her question.

“Porrim said something about-mmf!” the rest of her words were obscured by the heavy cashmere Porrim girl had thrown over her head. Latula, for her part, gave a disgusted, knowing frown at her friend’s answer.

“Just something about Cronus and I...” Porrim laid a tentative hand on Latula’s shoulder and subtly tried to steer her away from Aranea, who was trying and failing to remove the sweater from her head. “The things we get up to in our spare time, and such. Our… proclivities..” The last part was intoned with a carefully affected and suitably shameless grin. Though shame was very much what she was feeling in that moment, if not utter and abject embarrassment. Latula had enough hanging over her head, after all.

Latula, for her part, just shook her head. “You know what, nevermind. To each their own and all that, but I don’t want to hear it.” She clamped her hands over her ears when Porrim chased after her, going into the kind of lurid detail she’d just shut down. As she began making her way towards the front of the store, she called back. “Wrap up whatever you need to do here, yeah? We’ve been here for like, an hour and you said it yourself. We have a lot of things to do. So just like, I’ll be outside.. ” after her friend answered in the affirmative, she stepped out onto the street, grumbling all the while.

After making sure Latula had left the store proper, Porrim returned to Aranea, who was still struggling with the sweater. She pulled a few articles out of her friend’s arms, and after checking a few against her figure, she bundled up the lot and put the rest back onto the racks before removing the cashmere from Aranea’s head. Though she couldn’t quite completely ignore the girl’s pouting stare, she smiled nonchalantly regardless, and made no attempt to downplay the slight guilt in her expression. Well enough, Aranea had schooled her face into a carefully affected mask of benign suspicion, complete with comically narrowed eyes. 

“Porrim...” She began, almost threatening. The subtle twist of a smile pulling at her lips and the twinkle of mirth in her eyes gave her away, however. It wasn’t so much an actual threat, but it was clear Porrim was hiding something, and her friend’s evasiveness about the subject had more than just piqued her curiosity. She meant very much to get to the bottom of this particular rabbit hole. It was an intent that receded for the time being, however, when Porrim suddenly stepped in close, not stopping until their faces were mere inches apart.

Porrim gave Aranea a purposeful stare, eyes flashing over her face, lingering on her lips, her lashes, her cheeks, before staring into her friend’s eyes. An affected smile, equally parts devious and sultry broke over her own face, then, as she bore down. ‘Would she back down?’ She couldn’t help but wonder.

Aranea’s blush returned in full force, then. A frisson of apprehension rolled up her spine at the darkness in the Porrim’s eyes. Not malice, but a thinly-veiled hunger, and an unsung promise should she persist in trying to divine for an answer to her question. She lowered her eyes and swallowed thickly around the knot that had suddenly swelled in her throat. “U-uhm…”

And just so, all traces of that hunger, that deviousness, abruptly receded. Porrim’s smile was benign and placid, just a touch sly, as she pulled away..“Ok, so, since we’re updating _your_ wardrobe…” She brought up the tops she’d chosen, two dangling from each hand on their hangers. Silence. Her friend turned away, and made no move to acquiesce. “Pick two.”

Aranea obeyed, and ran tentative, subtly trembling fingers along the length of one of the tops in Porrim’s left hand. It was a henley, best she could tell without looking at the thing, albeit one with worryingly short sleeves. Her fingers caught on an edge of fabric - wasn’t she just stroking the neckline and shoulders? Her eyes flashed to the garment in confusion. 

“Does it have to be one of these?” She couldn’t help but ask, then. Solidly colored a cool and light grey, almost white, with buttons that would’ve stopped somewhere halfway down her chest. Even fully fastened, though, it wouldn’t cover all of her cleavage. And that wasn’t taking into account the sleeves. the thing may as well have been sleeveless it left so much of her arms exposed. The material, however, was suitably thick to wear on its own, unlike the one hanging next to it. The one on the left effectively covered more of her skin, but the material was too thin, almost to the point of being sheer, and billowy.

Porrim just stared at her. Aranea sighed. It wasn’t much of a choice. “This one..” the blonde announced, pulling the henley-thing from her friend. She nodded and returned the other one to the rack, and held up the remaining two.

As before, there was no contest. The black one was a halter with fine golden chains for straps. And the other, a deep cerulean blue tank, covered about just as little of her back. It had proper straps, however, and the neckline didn’t plunge so low as the black one. However, it would have hugged her figure just as tightly. She could see it working equally well with her slacks and the denim from this morning her friend had dismissed. Porrim chimed in, then, placid smile suddenly sly and mischievous.

“I’d go with the black one. That, you can wear it with anything and still be ready to party. The blue one… would make you look like some kind of sexy librarian, or like some really hot suburban mom.”

Aranea couldn’t help but splutter at her words. Porrim, for her part, just laughed, a low and soft sound too self-satisfied to be musical. She worried at her lip, however, at the thought. Such was exactly what she was thinking. And though she’d never particularly indulged in vanity, there was something about the style she found incredibly appealing. It suited her, she mused. The black halter was returned to the rack, and after shooting down a few of her friend's racier suggestions, the pair made their way to the front counter, where an older girl rang up their purchases. 

A rather pretty older girl, who kept shooting Porrim glances out of the corner of her eye with a tentative smile. And as her friend sauntered forward, returning the cashier’s smile with a striking curl of her lips and a roll of her hips, Aranea could only watch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was this thing I read, about how creators and artists unintentionally put symbolism in their works. I wonder if it's the same here.
> 
> Feedback and comments are appreciated. Also, kudos :)


	14. Swingers and Orgy Parties Aren't the Most Fun A Girl Can Have

“It’s about bloody time.” Latula girl bit out irately, leveling the approaching forms of her friends with a pointed stare. “I thought I told you lot to wrap things up. What took you so long?” she glared at the pair, but fixed her eyes on Porrim, who wore a guileless smile. Aranea, at least, had the sense to look suitably admonished. And the slight exasperation she felt was obvious - she was fixing the the taller girl with a disapproving stare of her own.

“This one..” Aranea began as she jabbed a thumb in Porrim’s direction. “Thought that flirting with the cashier was a good idea, for some reason.”

Latula deadpanned, mentally facepalming so hard she could feel the imprint on the front lobe of her brain. She turned to Porrim, fixing the girl with an incredulous but questioning stare.

Porrim was quick to correct her friend, hands raised defensively. “That is not true. All I did was give her a compliment-”

Aranea cut in, then, staring accusingly at Porrim. “Several. You gave her several compliments, most of which, thankfully enough, she returned. And then you started flirting with her.”

The smile that spread over Porrim’s face in turn was self-satisfied, almost to the point of being a shit-eating grin. She hovered closer, gingerly setting a hand on Aranea’s shoulder before speaking. “Other way around, sweetie. She started flirting with me. I just returned the favor.”

Aranea, for her part, was nonplussed, and stared stonily on. “Still. That’s not something you do with someone on shift. It’s harassment and incredibly inconsiderate.” She huffed.

To more than just the clerk. Her thoughts flashed to Cronus and the night previous, and what he’d said before they kicked off the show. He’d made clear his involvement to the girl who’d said… that. And yet, despite his fidelity, here was Porrim throwing his faith back in his face, and she couldn’t help but seethe.

Porrim just shrugged. She had to concede that. “Fair, and true enough, _if_ it was unwelcome.” However.. ”Considering she gave me her number, though...” She pulled a scrap of paper from an inner pocket of her jacket to reveal a phone number scrawled in black sharpie. “So we could talk when she was off work, I’m pretty sure that isn’t the case.” She finished with a victorious smirk. But her words had fallen on deaf ears - there was still a slight disapproval in Aranea’s expression, and the nonchalance in her smile faded.

“And what does Cronus think about this?” Aranea asked in turn, an edge to her voice whose reason the Porrim couldn’t quite understand. Her fingers were tight against her arms as a number of things flashed through her mind, confusion, the foremost, at her friend’s wide grin. Second was apprehension as Porrim draped a heavy arm around her shoulders. It may have been that she was reading too deeply into things. But all that considered, she had a nagging feeling that the way her friend had touched her wasn’t strictly intended as simply platonic or just friendly. Though she could understand a tendency of being particularly casual about physical contact, what Porrim had done in the hours since this morning gave her pause. And for all the kinds of flattered it made her feel, this she wouldn’t abide. “What does he have to say about you messing around on the side?”

The accusation was evident and laid bare, but Porrim, for her part, just stared. The urge to laugh had seized her chest. Be it out of genuine bemusement or a desire to dissolve the tension hanging heavy in the atmosphere, or some combination of both, she didn’t know, but it was clear the blonde wouldn’t appreciate a forced injection of levity. And so, she pulled her arm back enough that only her fingers rested on her friend’s shoulder, touch light and unthreatening as she could manage. But Aranea tensed nonetheless. She shifted her grip, then, to the blonde’s hair, fingers tracing along the line of her jaw and along her ear. “Sweetie…”

Latula slapped Porrim’s arm. “I know you don’t mean to..” She began. “But that sort of jazz might be taken as patronizing.” When her friend backed off, she leveled her eyes with Aranea’s before continuing. “You wanted to know what Cronuts would say about Miss Teen Vogue messing around on the side?” she asked gently.

Aranea gave a terse nod, but said nothing.

“He’d probably say ‘go for it’.” Latula said simply. After a moment of contemplation she added, “Might even bring in a partner of his own and turn this crowd into some kind of orgy party if he could, and that’s the lousy truth.”

Porrim, for her part, just rolled her eyes and gave Latula a pointed stare, who gave her a shrug in turn. As such was not how she’d have put it, and her friend was aware of the fact. She admired Latula’s bluntness nonetheless - straight to the point, even if there was nothing remotely straight about what she was insinuating. Latula had cut to the heart of the matter, and it was clear Aranea had no objections, just… bewilderment. She turned to Aranea, whose face now bore an expression of equal parts confusion and diminishing disbelief.

There was no sly twinkle in Latula’s eye, no telltale sign that the girl was having her on. If anything, she looked pissed off and tired, as though what her friend had just told her was some kind of line she’d had to feed people every time they found out - well practiced and automatic.The gravity of her words hit her full force. “You’re… you’re not joking..”

Latula shook her head. “Not about how this one and her boytoy are two halves of some kind of super sex dynamo, no. But it is laughable how utterly bizarre this whole situation is, like. What are the chances, you know?”

Porrim took advantage of the lapse in conversation to cut in, then. “You… asked about what I meant by swinger in-laws.” She began tentatively. After looking to Latula, who just stood staring expectantly, she continued. “There’s your answer.”

Aranea just nodded dumbly, still trying to process the situation. She made no move to swat away the bespectacled girl’s hand coming to rest on her head, too taken with struggling with the realization of just how true Meenah’s words were; _“..they’re kind of… wild.” the violet-eyed girl replied. “Not sure if you’re… ready for that kind of crazy, I guess.”_ And though crazy wouldn’t have been the exact word she’d have used, the sheer level of bon-vivant, utter hedonism Porrim had essentially just confessed to definitely took her for one hell of a sharp turn.

“So…” Aranea began, turning to regard the taller girl with as even an expression as she could manage. No judgement, no derision or condescension, just earnest and solemn curiosity. “When you said swinger in-laws… you meant, literal swingers?” the blonde asked. “Like, literal swingers who, while maintaining a committed relationship of their own, I guess… sleep with other people?”

Porrim nodded, mouth quirking with slight exasperation. Such was not how she’d have defined swingers, but such had been made abundantly clear in the past few minutes, had it not? And though she could appreciate how left-field the revelation was, she’d thought Aranea quicker on the uptake, and the type to not repeat the same questions, even if she’d never explicitly asked. She stepped away, tentatively fingering the scrap of paper in her hands, and couldn’t help but bite her lip. She’d not been entirely upfront or sincere in her intent with the cashier - the entire thing was just an exercise in harmless flirting, but it was clear the clerk expected her to call. Further, she wasn’t entirely sure of what kind of inclinations the girl possessed - the attraction to herself was evident enough, but whether she’d find Cronus just as attractive was another story. Maybe she’d visit some time later with her partner, or have the boy try to engage her. She glanced towards the storefront, expression becoming contemplative, before turning her focus back to the number in her hand.

Latula peered at the scrap between the dark-haired girl’s fingers. “It’s probably just a fake to get you out of the store.”

“Lunch that you’re wrong.” was her friend’s answer.

Though confidence in her sexuality was something Porrim possessed in spades, her sexual proclivities and inclinations were laid bare before Aranea, and she couldn’t help but feel vulnerable in that moment. Further, she was very much considering inviting the cashier to meet with Cronus for an evening and see where it would go. There was no conviction in her engagement with Latula’s words, but she’d be damned if she didn't rise to the implied challenge - she was Porrim Maryam after all, Nympho Sex Goddess de jure and momfriend extraordinaire. Attempts at either of those self-applied titles wouldn’t stand, even if all she wanted to do in the moment was ride her boyfriend’s disco stick into an orgiastic coma.

“Deal.”

At that, Porrim brought out her phone and put the number in, before putting the call on speaker. She motioned for the two to look into the storefront. Sure enough, after a few seconds, the cashier jerked as though stepping out of a trance and pulled out her own phone, bringing it to her ear. She turned in their direction, and gave a little wave before ending the call. With that, Porrim turned on her heel and started strutting down the street back to the parking garage. “And that’s all she wrote.”  
____

The rest of the afternoon passed without further incident, however it did take a good bit of time for Porrim to return to her usual sly reticence. She’d perked up some after lunch, but she was possessed of a tension through to their drive home. However, she became positively exuberant upon reaching Aranea’s front door. Her steps were quick and clipped as she half-pulled half dragged both inside.

“Ok, you’ve been on the verge of losing your shit ever since I parked downstairs. What gives?” Latula asked irately.

Porrim turned to her friend with a wide grin. “Because now, we get to the fun part.” ‘Fun’ was punctuated by a heavily-lidded stare cast in Aranea’s direction, who couldn’t help but shrink under her almost lurid gaze.

“W-what..”

“We’ve bought the clothes. Now we get to see how everything _comes together_.”

At that, Aranea spluttered, the dual meaning of Porrim’s words not lost on her at all, and she couldn’t help but blanche and shrink away even more. A confusing heat flared in her gut as her cheeks flushed crimson, and she couldn’t help but cross her arms defensively over her chest. Her suspicions from earlier were less tentative, now, and that considering, she didn’t know what to make of the look her friend was giving her. As before, there was a thinly-veiled hunger in her friend’s eyes, and though she now had an idea of what Porrim’s proclivities were, the fact didn’t do much to soothe her fraying nerves. If anything, it just made everything worse - the heat in her stomach, the fluttering behind her ribs, and the color suffusing her face. She felt as though she were on an edge, and even the slightest misstep might see her fall.

“I-I don’t...that’s-”

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” Latula cut in. Aranea breathed, watching as she stood, and picked up the bag with the bleaching kit they’d bought. “Be a shame to mess up those clothes with bleach and stuff, so… probably best if we deal with her hair before anything else.” She reasoned. Porrim nodded, though she couldn’t hide her slight disappointed pout.

“Y-yes..! I… I should probably wash up first before anything, too.” Aranea chimed in, almost a little too forcefully. Porrim just gave her a knowing sideways glance. Nervousness seized her form. “So... the, um, bleach takes properly! And… yeah. I’ll just…” And with that, Aranea fled into the en-suite bathroom, before calling back one last time. “Make yourselves at home.”

Latula took the invitation as an opportunity to start rooting through the girl’s refrigerator, and let out a low ‘ooh’ as she pulled a small box out of its depths. She flipped the container open, and gasped delightedly at the sight - the last half of a small round chocolate cake covered with creamy white fondant. Dark chocolate and raspberries, and a subtle note of vanilla, without the suffocating smell of sugar. “Blondie?” she called out.

“Y..yes..?”

“Mind if I help myself to the cake?”

Aranea shucked off her cardigan and pulled her nightdress up over her head before replying. “Just leave some for me.”

Latula was quick to take a knife to the pastry, cutting herself a slice before rummaging through the cupboards for a plate. Once everything was squared away, the knife set in the sink and the box returned to the fridge, she returned to Aranea’s modest living room with cake in hand.

“You don’t want to take a full-on shower yet.” Porrim called to the blonde. “Just condition your hair.” Aranea’s reply wasn’t immediate. She made out the sound of water running, and a door closing, before she heard Aranea’s muffled ‘okay’.

Latula, for her part, just pointedly rolled her eyes. She didn’t speak until she heard the water running in the bathroom, and was sure the blonde had started showering, before fixing Porrim with an accusing stare.

Her friend girl only quirked a bemused brow in response. It wasn’t particularly difficult to predict what she was about to say, she’d admit.

“I know the whole ‘free love’ thing’s your bit, but like, can you please keep in mind for once that you’re in a committed relationship?” Latula began in a voice just low enough that it wouldn’t carry. “Seriously, first that girl today and now Blondie. Like, what the hell is your-”

“While Aranea _is_ that cute,” Porrim cut in. “I’m not a homewrecker. I’m not trying anything like that unless she and Meenah are open to it.”

The disapproval in Latula’s face faded somewhat at her words, but she stared resolutely up at her friend, and Porrim sighed.

“As for the other girl, well…” Porrim strode up to the table where Latula sat and snatched the fork from between her friend’s fingers before spearing herself a bite of cake. “You said it yourself. If Cronus found out about it, he’s just as likely to find someone and, how did you put it?” she chewed with an affected thoughtfulness before returning Latula’s words. “‘Turn this crowd into some kind of orgy party’?” A sly smile curled over her lips as she stared pointedly down at her friend.

Latula couldn’t help but seethe inwardly. “Whatever.” she bit out, before taking the fork back. “Nea’s out of her depth and you know it. The least you could do is show some consideration and dial it down a bit. For her sake and Meenah’s.” She muttered almost angrily around a mouthful of cake.

Porrim’s hard-edged smile softened at the her friend’s words. “Yeah… Yeah, I should. I’m sorry.” she stepped around Latula’s chair and draped her arms the girl’s neck, bending down to brush her lips against her hair. After a moment, she took to nosing through Latula’s locks, breathing in the faint scent of a day spent in the sun lingering there.

Latula was quick to push her away, but when Porrim made no further move, her hands stilled. “Porrim…“ she mouthed out warningly. “I’m-”

“Eating, I know. And relax. This is completely platonic sisterly hugging. And i won’t mess up your cake, I promise.” Porrim returned. Her arms slipped closer as she stepped forward, and she couldn’t help but sigh at the gentle pressure of Latula’s head against her stomach. She and drew a few fingers through her friend’s hair. “Or are you telling me I can’t just hug you now?”

“Sapphic sensualism by any other name.” Latula began. She couldn’t help but sigh at the hand stroking through her hair. There was no intent behind the motion, and that fact made her relax even more, until she was resting her head against the her friend’s stomach. The corners of her mouth tugged up into a cheeky grin, then. “Or, what with you being the mom of our group, quasi-oedipal subtext.”

Porrim wasted no time, immediately shifting her hands from the girl’s shoulders to her face, and began stretching and pinching her cheeks. “You utter brat…” she hissed. She couldn’t keep the glee out of her face as Latula let out a distressed wail, and flailed helplessly as she ruthlessly contorted and squeezed. Laughter rang through the modest space, both hers and her friend’s. But there was a third voice in that chorus, one that grew louder as its source approached.

Both girls at the table looked over to watch Aranea as she laughed, a soft, unwittingly sensual sound. She ambled closer, all smiles and still faintly wet from the shower, with little else save a towel wrapped around her body to protect her modesty, a towel that was riding dangerously far up her thighs.

Porrim’s eyes grew wide, and her jaw dropped to the floor. Latula was in a similar disarray at the sight, trying to clear her throat of pastry that had gone down the wrong pipe. Aranea walked over to the hamper, before pulling out an unwashed shirt and an old pair of sweatpants. The bottoms were the first to go on, waistband sliding up along her legs and under the edge of the towel. The shirt followed soon after, coming up over her head and over the upper edge of terry cloth wrapped around her chest.

Latula was the one to break the silence that followed, turning towards Aranea with an accusing stare, still trying to process what had just happened. Though technically she was the one walked in on, in a sense, Latula inexplicably also felt like she’d just seen something she shouldn’t have, a voyeur. ‘That cute’ didn’t do Aranea justice. After taking a moment to collect herself and giving a nervous frown, she spoke. “What’s so funny, Blondie?”

Aranea returned the expression in kind, a wry quirk curling over her lips . “I was just thinking of my cousin. She isn’t the hugging type. But she’s really huggable-oof!” A toned arm wrapping around her middle and a cheek nuzzling against her own had her face gently flushing pink.

“Must run in the family then!” Porrim brightly quipped as she let out a delighted coo, pulling her friend close. Fingers gently rolling over Aranea’s middle, she could only hold the girl tighter, purring at the contrast between the firmness of her own body and her friend’s softness. Aranea looked haplessly to Latula for assistance. The pink in her cheeks was gone, but there was in a bemused discomfort in her expression - Porrim was holding her with a strength belied by her wiry frame, and their position was exceedingly awkward.

Latula, for her part, looked on, carefully watching the scene. When her friend’s embrace didn’t turn sensual, a crooked grin cracked over her face - Aranea looked entirely too much like a cat being squished by its human. She let out a low chuckle and approached the two, before wrapping her arms around them and joining the giggly mass of hair and people. Porrim could only laugh, adjusting her hold to pull Latula in.

Aranea, struggling beneath the weight of not one but two suddenly cuddle-drunk girls, grit her teeth and let out a determined cry. A tentative first step towards her bed was followed by a second surer one. Bringing all the strength in her legs to bear, she wrapped an arm around each of her friends, and trudged forth, her steps not slowing in the least until she’d reached her bed. They all collapsed onto the mattress in a mess of tangled limbs and pointy elbows digging into each other’s sides, laughing without a care in the world.

“Okay… okay..” she began as she sat up, sides aching and still breathless. “We need to get the bleaching started before my hair dries.”

Porrim let out a low whine and tugged her back down, draping an arm across her chest and reaching for Latula. “Come on...bleaching your hair can wait, can’t it?”

Latula gave an affirmative hum, settling further onto the mattress as she threw her leg over Aranea’s.

“If we don’t get started now we never will.“ Aranea insisted. “And you won’t get to see how ‘it all comes together’.”

Porrim just buried her face in her friend’s shoulder. “I can see it come together later. M’gonna wait. Till tomorrow.” Porrim mumbled, nuzzling even deeper into blonde.

Latula, for her part, however, rose reluctantly, remembering the prep work for her presentation she needed to get done. She pulled her legs out of the tangle and scooted away. “Actually, I’m with Blondie on this one. No reason to put off till tomorrow what you can do today.”

“Says the girl who regularly puts off doing homework to play video games.” Porrim shot back.

“Yeah, and then I put off gaming to cram for whatever shit I didn’t get done.” Latula returned as she ran a tired hand through her hair. “That jazz is wicked stressful.” she gave both a sheepish look. “I.. also have stuff to do tomorrow.”

Porrim could only give a resigned sigh as she sat up. Outvoted two to one, there was little else she could do save acquiesce. And so, she stood, snatching the bag with the bleaching kit up off the table before leading Aranea back into the bathroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I said, Pornus _isn't_ the obligatory straight couple. They're the obligatory old married swingers, sort of like in that one SNL skit with Will Ferrell, Jimmy Fallon, and the hot tub.
> 
> Feedback is appreciated, as always :)


	15. Girl Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cooking kink ahoy!

It took the better part of fifteen minutes to apply the bleach, and another fifteen for it to set. Much of the brevity of time was owed to how little area Aranea needed covered - she only needed to touch up her roots - and part to Porrim’s skillful hands, the rest to Latula’s urging of hurry. She sent an irritated glare the other girl’s way. “I’m doing this as fast as I can.” Porrim snipped as massaged the solution out of the Aranea’s hair.

“It’s just dye.” Latula returned, eyeing her friend bent over the edge of the tub. Gone was the voluminous cloud of her hair, and in its place sat a drenched mess of what she could kindly describe as a clump of noodles. She fingered a lock of her own hair contemplatively. Why anyone would spend so much time and effort into what she could see was a long and painful process just to change the color of their hair was beyond her. Though she had to admit there was a certain appeal aesthetically. A head of bubblegum candyfloss, or hair the color of clouds just before a storm was eye-catching by any definition. But from what she could tell, Aranea had never done her hair up in any of those colors, and kept it a pale blonde. She looked more like the ghost of a long dead teenage girl. _‘Or an angel’_ Latula mused internally. Her thoughts flashed back to the morning for a moment, when she’d seen Aranea for a second time. In the sun, the girl looked like she’d stepped right out of a movie.

“Actually, dyeing’s a completely separate process, though bleaching is often done beforehand for brighter colors.” Aranea interjected as she sat up, running a towel through her hair to blot away any excess water. She looked to Porrim, who was already mixing together a second solution. Latula could only groan as she looked on.

“Oh hell… what are you doing now?”

“Toner.” Porrim replied. “Look, if you don’t want to watch the whole thing, then feel free to leave.”

“What even…” Latula pinched the bridge of her nose. She contemplated the time. A half-hour overall to deal with bleach, and now, it seemed she’d be stuck for yet another, watching her friend apply another mixture. Aranea, for her part, didn’t seem too distressed, or bored, though her expression did become slightly pained as Porrim feathered the wet brush along the roots of her hair. Latula sighed again. “Alright, I’ll bite. What’s toner for?”

“Toner evens out the color,” Porrim explained “See how it’s more orangey than blonde?” the other girl nodded. She continued. “This… will deal with that. Should come out to a honey blonde once I’m finished.”

“And how long will that take?” Latula asked. It was more of a rhetorical question - if the bleach was anything to go by, it’d probably take about as much time as the bleach to set, shy of about an hour.

“Half an hour to-”

Latula groaned again, exasperation more pronounced than before. “Yeah, an hour. Got it.” She stood, and stalked out of the bathroom shaking her head. An ache had developed just behind her eyes, and was starting to seep deeper. Air was what she needed, something to clear her fogged-up brain of the fumes from the bleach hanging heavy in the bathroom. She hit the exhaust switch on her way out before stalking into the kitchen, and after pouring herself a mug of cold coffee, she headed to the patio.

Porrim finished a few minutes later. After rinsing the brushes and cups, and tossing her soiled gloves in the trash, she helped Aranea up. A smile was stretched wide over her face. “This was nice…”She began as she put away the kit. Aranea gave her a questioning glance, and she couldn’t help but explain. “Today, I mean. Girl time. Shopping, doing each-well, your hair… it was… nice.” She cringed inwardly for a moment, but as she sat on the cistern of the toilet, the feeling faded. Latula was her usual prickly self, but Aranea was the buffer they’d needed to keep things light, keep every interaction from degenerating into a hot squabbling mess.

She ran a hand through her hair as her mind turned to the person who used to fill in that role. Though they occasionally spoke over the phone and saw each other in school, it had been some time since either she or Latula had been able to just sit down and talk with Meulin face to face, and the thought worried her. Even when they could talk, it had almost always been her doing the talking. The other girl would often only just hum in agreement or give noncommittal answers when asked questions. Sometimes, she’d even be downright evasive and uncharacteristically taciturn, especially when the topic of her boyfriend came up.

Her expression soured at the thought. Kurloz was a can of worms if ever a human being could be one. They’d met the few times, but no matter what setting, no matter how many other people stood between them, none of it could put her at ease whenever he was present. Dark eyes, fair hair and a fair complexion, and always that placid smile - he was an attractive boy, gorgeous even. But there was something about him that always set her on edge. Be it that the slight half-grin he always wore didn’t reach his eyes, the fact that it was always on his face, or how cold his stare made her feel, she didn’t know. And that wasn’t taking into account how Meulin spent all her time with the boy. Or how she always was when he was around. Sitting next to him, or perched on his lap like a cat, always on the verge of letting everyone else in the room fall away and going to town on his face. His stupid, gorgeous, smiling face.

No decorum, his hand always resting on her thigh or someplace on the girl’s body just as provocative, and the gesture was never returned. Meulin meekly, no, submissively, accepted it. And that thought had her hands clenching into white-knuckled fists. A little or a lot of kink was fine, she’d readily admit. But to have the dynamic bleed over into their daily lives, be so deeply set into their relationship that Meulin was in that mode even when other people were present. It unnerved her, and she couldn’t help but wonder just how far into that sort of thing they’d gone if that was how her friend was outside of that kind of setting. Porrim could only give a shuddering sigh as she tried to banish the image from her mind.

“You don’t get a lot of girl time?” Aranea asked. Porrim’s responding silence saw her reach out tentatively. Hand settling gingerly on her friend’s shoulder, she gave porrim a gentle smile, willing away whatever it was that had pulled her friend into so deep a contemplation.

At the touch, Porrim spoke. “Not anymore, no.” She replied distantly, Kurloz still refusing to recede from the forefront of her mind. After a moment, her expression returned to it’s usual sly set. “You know how Latula and I get on. She’s a brat.” Porrim quipped affectionately. “And Meenah’s not the type to go for this sort of thing.”

Aranea gave a reluctant nod. Despite her exterior, she understood Meenah to be much softer than she let on, though it might have just been that it was because she and her partner were that way, more than anything else. “You can’t, erm, have girl time with Cronus?” she couldn’t help but ask. At Porrim’s questioning stare, she blanched and gave a sheepish smile, before elaborating. “I mean like, go shopping and just… relax, I guess, with him?”

Porrim gave her lower lip a contemplative nibble before speaking. “We do get on with that sort of thing - shopping, and relaxing, and going out on coffeeshop dates and stuff. He and I… do have that kind of girl time together, too, as you call it.” She turned to Aranea then, eyes glittering with mischief. She held her hand up to her face, pressing two fingers to her lips. “But usually we have a, shall we say... different kind of girl time together, if you catch my drift.” Her tongue peeked from between the two digits as she gave her friend a pointed stare.

Aranea just looked on, more than a little confused until Porrim started wiggling her tongue between two digits. And all ambiguity about what the dark-haired girl meant vanished as she continued gesturing. The meaning behind her wiggling fingers became painfully clear as she thrust one finger into a circle formed with her thumb.

Porrim waggled her eyebrows suggestively for good measure, rising and approaching the blonde. Aranea for her part, just laughed as she pushed the dark-haired girl’s hands down. “Two brats. Two children in this little group.”

“And a stuck up sexy librarian-in-training for a babysitter.” Porrim returned with a sharp smile. She approached Aranea, and assessed her hair. The toner was just about starting to set, but would more than likely need ten minutes more to properly take. But the bathroom was starting to stink of bleach, and she couldn’t help coughing. “We should probably air out.”

Aranea nodded, touching a hand to her forehead as she gestured Porrim towards the door. “Mmm..” As they entered the living room, she found herself asking the dark-haired girl how it was she’d learned to bleach hair so well, or at least, applying the solution considering her own hair was still so dark and thick. Porrim just laughed.

“Practice.” She explained. “When I was younger, I always wanted to dye my hair a crazy bright color like green or pink. The bleaching bit always threw me off because like, everything I’d read said it would hurt.” At that, the blonde nodded and gave a humorless smile. “And it wasn’t like my mom would let me. A bright color, I mean. So I did the next best thing, went with the darker colors.” Aranea quirked a brow. She laughed again. “I was a redhead for awhile, believe it or not.”

“Your hair was brown and you know it. Maybe dark auburn, if you want to be generous.” Latula chimed in from the patio.

“It was dark _red_. Maybe if you actually took off those ridiculous shades for once you’d have seen it.” Porrim returned as she ushered Aranea towards her friend.

“Yeah, whatever. Nice comeback, _Carrot Top_.” Latula snipped back as she turned to the two. And she couldn’t help but let out a snicker when she saw Aranea. Her hair no longer hung down in scraggly strings, but the violet-red toner against her pale hair made her head look like a plate of spaghetti. After a moment further, however, her laughter petered off, giving way to the low rumbling of her stomach. Porrim groaned.

“We literally just had lunch.” She grumbled, staring accusingly at her friend.

“It’s been hours.” Latula bit back. “And it’s not my fault Blondie’s head looks like spaghetti.”

At that, Aranea couldn’t help but pipe up. “No pasta and tomato sauce… but I do have some tomato soup and instant noodles…” she began as she scurried into the kitchen. She waved the two over when they didn’t follow, and retrieved various foodstuffs from the cupboards. And after the ingredients, she set about cooking.Porrim and Latula could only look on, the former slightly impressed, and the latter disbelieving as Aranea buzzed about the kitchen. Latula’s face fell when she saw the spread, however. Aranea wasn’t joking when she’d said she had tomato soup and instant noodles, it seemed. And after a moment more of watching her friend prepare the food, she tentatively spoke.

“...you.. Were serious about instant noodles and tomato soup…” she began as she followed the blonde into the kitchen. She held the packet up, before bringing the can to her eyes. The label read ‘condensed tomato’. The girl couldn’t help but groan as she looked over. She’d never seen a less appetizing collection of ingredients in her life, and the disappointment was plain to see on her face. Aranea, for her part, however, just soldiered on, dropping chopped herbs, minced garlic, and a pat of butter into the pot along with a pinch of salt.

“Yeah. I used to make this all the time for my cousins when I babysat. Of course, we usually added either mince or sausage for like, a kind of improv spagbol.” She explained.

The expression on Latula’s face changed when she caught a whiff of the smells coming from the pot. Contrary to what she’d believed, it seemed that whatever Aranea was planning was starting to actually come together. And though she winced at the violent sizzle as the blonde added water into the pot, as the seconds drew on, her face became more like Porrim’s - where once was disappointment, there was awe.

“Can you check if I have some bread?” Aranea asked, gesturing to a cupboard behind the bespectacled girl with the wooden spoon in her hand.

Porrim couldn’t help but chime in then, absolutely entranced by the scents in the kitchen. “Got enough for one more?” she asked.

Aranea, for her part, just gave a knowing smile, pouring a bit more water and scraping the rest of the herbs and garlic from the cutting board and into the pot. Once the water had reached a roiling boil, she dumped two blocks of instant noodles into the mix, gently prodding and swirling the water with her spoon. Once the noodles had separated, she added the tomato soup, stirred it in, and lowered the heat a touch before putting a lid on the pot. The smile she flashed their way was immediately replaced by a look of pain, and she ran back into the bathroom, citing something to do with the toner still in her hair.

Latula ambled over to the pot, hesitantly taking up the spoon before calling out to Aranea in the shower. “Um… Blondie? What do we, uh, do about the spagbol thing?”

“Just… let it be for two more minutes then take the lid off. After that, lower the heat, and stir it until the sauce isn’t runny anymore.” Aranea called out as she stripped down. “Then let it sit and cool.” Once bare, she stepped into the shower, running her body under the water before thoroughly massaging the remaining toner out of her hair.

The two left in the kitchen set to work, Latula manning the stove while Porrim rooted around for plates. After following their friend’s instructions, they served out the noodles, setting together three portions before carrying everything to the small table in the living room.

“Food’s done!” Porrim called out to Aranea as she picked up her fork, eyeing the plate with more than a little hunger. Despite its main ingredients being little more than the bottom end of a dead-empty pantry, the smells coming off of the plate of noodles were whetting her appetite and making her stomach growl, her mouth water. Latula was the same, eyeing her own plate with a predatory stare as she diddled with her fork.

“I’ll probably be awhile. You guys should start without me.” Came Aranea’s reply over the sound of the shower.The two needed no further prompting, and tucked into their respective plates with enthusiasm.

Latula, for her part, couldn’t help but groan the moment the first forkful hit her tongue. The texture of the sauce was that right balance of thick and thin. It stuck to and coated the noodles without being clumpy. The noodles themselves were just a bit past al dente - each one was chewy but firm enough to be distinct. And as for the taste, she was never going to look at a packet of instant noodles or tinned soup the same way again. Forkful after forkful disappeared into her mouth as she wolfed the improvised pasta down.

Porrim's reaction wasn’t as pronounced. Her forkfuls were measured and uniform, regular and unrushed. But just like Latula, she was making noises - low and sensuous, drawn-out moans in her throat surging up to meet each bite. “Oh she definitely has to invite me to brunch next time if she’s cooking…” She mused half-jokingly around a mouthful of noodles.

“Forget about brunch. Blondie whipped this up out of instant ramen and tinned soup. Imagine what she could do with proper ingredients.” Latula returned as she polished off her plate.

Porrim just shrugged. “Mmm.. maybe. But she said she always used to make this for her cousins. She’s used to cooking for kids, not… I guess people our age." 

"I'd have been happy with dino nuggets and a juicebox." Latula returned.

"Mm, I'll have to keep that in mind the next time your mother asks me to _babysit_."

Though Porrim received a rather rude salute for her trouble, she just laughed, and continued. "And this could also just be a one-off thing. Like, her specialty, and she has no other recipes in her…cooking arsenal or something.” She took another bite. “This is really good though.”

“Yeah, possibly. But did you see how she handled that knife?” Latula insisted.

“Garlic’s not that hard to mince and herbs aren’t particularly difficult to chop. I mean, she can cook, I’ll give her that. But i’m not sure if she can cook at like, that level.” Level was intoned with air quotes, and Porrim left it to her friend to puzzle out the meaning. But Latula just scoffed dismissively as she took the edge of her fork to the surface of the plate, scraping up any remaining sauce.

“Come off it. What, are you, like, jealous the sexy librarian-in-training will beat you out for momfriend of the year award or something?”

At that, Porrim couldn’t help but roll her eyes, not bothering to dignify her friend’s words with a response. Though after a moment, she did speak. ”It’s logistics. This place is barely big enough to accommodate us three, and we aren’t even like, moving around much. You add the boys into the equation, and the party’ll end up being a crowd, and lots of property damage will probably be involved.”

“We’ll have it at Cronut’s place, then. Definitely big enough for six people, with room to spare.”

“I suppose. I’d have to ask him, though..” Porrim glanced towards the bathroom then, expression contemplative. She didn’t notice Latula edging closer, bringing her fork towards her plate until a bite of pasta from her plate was halfway to the girl’s mouth. “...”

“I’m starving and this tastes bloody amazing, ok?” Latula bit out defensively as she stuffed the fork into her mouth. “Bite me.”

“You know… you could have just asked.” Porrim returned as she slid her plate towards her friend, letting loose a soft laugh as Latula tucked into the rest of her portion. “...you really like this, don’t you?”

“Mmmm..” Latula chewed through a mouthful of noodles before speaking. “Yeah. I mean, I love greek food, but like, it gets old after awhile.”

“That could be said about anyth-”

Porrim and Latula were abruptly yanked out of their conversation by a violent sound coming from the bathroom, like something heavy falling onto a carpeted floor. There was no resounding groan of pain, or any kind of noise. Just silence as the two strained to hear anything to dispel the cloud of dread growing in their chests. Tentatively, she called out to the blonde. “Nea…? What happened?”

Latula was already halfway to the door, her hand jiggling the knob. It didn't open. “Blondie?” she began, concern evident in her voice. “You okay in there?”

Silence.

Porrim joined Latula, knocking heavily on the door and trying to draw some kind of response from their friend. “Nea?” there was no answer. “Aranea!”

“Blondie, I swear to god if you don’t open this door..!” Latula’s was desperately fumbling with the knob now. The dread in her chest had given to panic. But try as she might, the door remained resolutely closed.

Porrim pounded frantically against the door, fists beating against wood as she struggled to either break it open or elicit a response from the room’s occupant. Aranea didn’t hear their cries, lying unconscious and cold, barely breathing on the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> c:<
> 
> Comments and feedback appreciated :)


	16. Girl Time, Interrupted

“Card!” Latula barked out. Porrim could only look on, confused until the other girl turned back to her. “Give me a card! Like a credit card or a gift card, or...Something!” At that, she immediately obeyed, fumbling a promotional debit card out of her wallet before handing it to Latula, who brought it to bear on the door.

She slid a corner of the thing into the gap between the door and frame around the area of the knob, carefully wedging it between the strike plate and the latch. A motion of her wrist had it caught, and as her fingers eased the card forward, the latch pulled back. The door opened, and she immediately stepped inside. Aranea was sprawled across the floor, modesty maintained only by a towel already precariously laying over her form and liable to slip off at the slightest motion. Her first instinct was to avert her eyes, but the second had her bending down and pulling that towel into place. Her fingers carefully probed around her friend’s head, checking for signs of injury, bleeding, and concussion. Her sigh of relief was audible even in the living room - there were none, and other than oddly shallow breathing, Aranea was fine, loss of consciousness notwithstanding. She called out to Porrim, then.

Porrim knelt next to Latula, handing her a bundle of Aranea’s clothes. “Is she okay?” She tentatively asked. Latula nodded.

“Yeah. Her breathing’s a little shallow, but she’s alright.” She rolled up the remaining towel on the rack and motioned towards the unconscious girl.

Porrim wordlessly obeyed, carefully bring Aranea up just enough for Latula to ease the makeshift pillow under her head. After a moment further of fussing around, and slipping the sweat pants up her friend’s legs, she spoke. “What the hell happened?”

Latula shrugged as she sat back. “I don’t know. We might find out more when she wakes up.”

After brushing her hair out of her face, Porrim placed a delicate hand on Aranea’s forehead. Warm, still faintly wet from the lingering steam. Her thumb drew across her friend’s cheek. “Should we call Campus Medical?”

Latula’s brow furrowed in thought for a moment. “If she doesn’t wake up in a few minutes, yeah. But I’ve checked her pulse, her breathing, any signs of concussion, and so far, nothing. Which is good.”

Porrim worried at her lower lip, and stared intently at Aranea’s unconscious face. “...What about Meenah?”

“What about her?” Latula asked as she looked up.

“They’re involved. _That way_.” Porrim began. She wanted nothing more in that moment than to have Aranea in Meenah’s arms. “Don’t you think she should know what happened?”

Latula, for her part, just shook her head and dismissed her friend’s question. “They’re minors in a relationship. Paycheck’s not next of kin or spouse.”

Porrim couldn’t help bristle at the comment. “She’s Aranea’s significant other-”

“Again,” Latula cut in. “Minors in an unconventional intimate relationship. And for all the money we make as a band, we’re still kids.”

”We can’t just cut her out of the loop! And we aren’t just-”

“We are minors as defined by the law.” She said firmly. “Look, I….I don’t know about what to think about Meenah. So just.. Drop it. For now, at least..”

“Yeah, no. I’m calling her right-”

The tones of a xylophone, almost shrill in the tense silence, cut through their exchange. After a meaningful stare from her friend, Porrim rose to hunt the source of the sound down, and brought Aranea’s phone up. The number was one she knew well - it was Meenah’s, and it was obvious that this wasn’t the first time she’d called today. Inwardly she couldn’t help but cringe - she was the one who insisted that they not go back for Aranea’s phone, and she was deeply regretting it now. Reluctantly, she hit the green icon and brought the device to her ear.

“I swear to god if you don’t pick up right now I’ll-”

“Hey.” Porrim cut in. Even through the phone, Meenah’s surprise was evident. And for the frantic desperate timbre to her words, so too was her confusion, her terror.

“What the hell is going on? Why do you have Aranea’s phone? Where is-”

“Long story, but she’s home. We’re… I’m at her place. So’s Latula. Just… just come over. I’ll explain ev-”

“No. You’re going to explain right now.” Meenah grit out. “I’m on my way, but just… spill. Why didn’t she pick up the phone? And why is Latula there?”

Porrim sucked in a breath. “Where to begin…”

“The beginning, obviously.”

She just rolled her eyes. “We, meaning Latula, Aranea, and I… went shopping.” She began. “For friday. It was my idea. And… she hasn't been picking up because she… sort of forgot her phone.”

“You didn’t go back for it?”

Porrim shook her head. “We were already halfway there. The arts district I mean. And it was like… if she needed to get in contact with someone or… had to just, use her phone for something, I guess, I said she could use mine.”

“Oh, that explains why I have _so_ many missed calls from you.”

She couldn’t help but wince at the accusation in her friend’s words - though she’d offered, Aranea had never actually used her phone. Nor did she ask. But again, she couldn’t help but feel guilty - she was the one who had dragged Aranea and Latula around everywhere all day. It was just one stop after another, and the only reprieve either of her friends had gotten was lunch after the first.

“What’s your point?” She bit back.

“My point, is that I’ve been trying to call her all day, and the first time I connect, you’re the one answering. But that isn’t the issue. It’s the fact that I’ve been calling all day.” Meenah hissed.

“And it’s my fault, is what you’re trying to say.”

“No, you thick- I’ve been losing my shit because Nea wouldn’t pick up! Like, what the hell am I supposed to think when my girlfriend won’t answer my calls?”

“She’s busy maybe?” Porrim bit out defiantly. But her conviction withered when she pulled up the log. It wasn’t as if Meenah had been spamming Aranea’s phone with calls. At an odd hour or so between calls, there were reasonable intervals of time between each, especially early on. Their frequency only picked up later in the day, a little after they’d finished up at Hole. Not possessiveness, but concern - she’d have done the same herself with Cronus if he couldn’t be contacted.

“Don’t you even try to pull that with me, Porrim.” Meenah seethed. “I have a right to be worried about someone I care about.”

Porrim ran a tired hand through her mane, pinching the bridge of her nose as she tried to keep focused on the conversation. “I know. I… I’m sorry. It’s… things are really stressful right now.”

“What? What’s going on?”

“I… you’re coming over, right?”

“What’s going on?” Meenah asked again, more forcefully this time.

"I… it’s not something I can get into over the phone. Just… come over. Latula’s calling me. I need to go.” And with that, after making sure that Meenah dropped the call first, Porrim returned to Aranea’s side.

“...Still out?”

“Like a light.”

At that, Porrim couldn’t help but let out a soft, trembling sigh. The panic in her chest had finally given into quiet terror, subtle and insidious, as she stared down at her friend’s face. It was almost peaceful, but such didn’t loosen the thick knot in her chest. Tentatively, she grasped the unconscious girl’s hand and ran her thumb across Aranea’s knuckles. The motion didn’t go unnoticed by Latula, who just stared on, intensely scrutinizing the blonde’s face.

Aranea had spent almost too much time under, and the thought sent a pang of worry stabbing through her chest. All she could think about was why this had happened.

“Porrim… We need to call campus medical.”

She gave no response, desperately willing her friend to wake up, one hand gently but firmly clutching Aranea’s pale fingers and her other smoothing back her hair, Porrim was heedless of her friend’s words. Latula touched a hand to her shoulder.

“Porrim.” She began, a bit more forcefully this time.

After a moment more of trying to rouse Aranea awake, Porrim spoke. Her voice wavered around the words. “Do it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so the drama begins.
> 
> Feedback appreciated :)


	17. Girl Time, Interrupted Pt.2

The first thing Meenah noticed as she rushed up to her partner’s suite were the ambulances. The front parking space, and a number of the adjacent spaces, were taken by a number of white vans with telltale stripes and light bars along their roofs. She paid no mind to the small throng of students crowded around the entrance, elbowing her way past people to the stairs leading up to the second floor. The next thing she noticed, were a pair of familiar heads. Porrim and Latula were hovering outside Aranea’s door, talking to a woman in an official-looking uniform scribbling on an electronic notepad.

She called out to the group, waved her arms, anything to catch their attention, but only succeeded in drawing the eye of the security posted by the edge. Neither of the men were quick enough, however, and she weaved beneath their grip to stride up to Porrim, who was looking in her direction as well as turning back to the woman.

“Wait, stop! That’s her. She’s-”

The woman needed to hear nothing else, and immediately she waved to the two men trying to bring her back to the other side of the cordon. Meenah, for her part, just glared them down, and laughed viciously when one averted his eyes. After cowing the other one, she turned her attention to her friends, and the woman standing over the two of them.

“Where is she?”

The question was directed to her two friends, but it was the older woman who spoke. No condescension, no tone of adult superiority, just frankness and a business-like demeanor. “In bed, resting.”

Meenah was quick to push into the suite, but a surprisingly firm hand on her shoulder stopped her. She whirled towards its owner, and was met by a pair of tired, dark, and unobscured blue-green eyes. Rage as much as worry boiled over in her chest.

“Either you take your hand off my shoulder or I move it.” she growled out.

Latula, for her part, evenly met her stare, but did loosen her grip, gesturing to the woman before completely letting go. Meenah’s eyes turned from the girl to who she understood to be in charge.

“What is your relationship with Aranea Serket?” The lead paramedic asked.

Meenah’s answer was immediate and automatic. “I’m her girlfriend. Significant other, or whatever it is you want to call it.” She stared the woman down when the latter quirked a brow. Her burgeoning glare gave way to a confused expression when the paramedic turned to Latula, who just gave a shrug, but returned the look with a beseeching stare. The older woman’s brow furrowed for a moment in thought, before nodding and waving her in. Porrim and Latula followed shortly.  
____

Aranea stirred to the sound of low and hushed voices, and a hand wrapped around hers as well as another stroking through her hair. The bolt of pain that throbbed between her ears as she opened her eyes passed after a moment, and she rose, clutching at her forehead.

“Easy…” An unfamiliar voice spoke as a hand alighted on her shoulder, neither pushing her down nor easing her up just yet. Another at her back, however, supported her weight.

“Hey…”

“Wha… Whass.. Ugh..” She blearily blinked the fatigue out of her eyes, and turned her gaze onto a familiar face. A smile was pulled at the corners of her lips. “Meenah..”

“I’m here, babe..” Meenah pressed a tentative kiss to her hand. Welcome heat flushed in her cheeks, but grew cold when the rest of the faces hovering at the edges of her vision came into focus. Porrim was staring down at her, worry lining her brow. And Latula’s sunglasses were hanging on the collar of her shirt, blue-green eyes boring into her own.

“What happened?” the blonde asked, after a moment further of trying to will away the dull ache in her head.

An unfamiliar voice spoke next. “We were hoping you could tell us, Ms. Serket.” another person, far older than any of her friends, was looming over the rest of them. “Is there anything you can remember before the... incident.. in the bathroom?”

“Bathroom...?” She remembered tomato soup and instant noodles, pain in her scalp. Immediately, her hands flew to her hair, now long dry. She ran careful fingers through the areas close to the root, and sighed in relief. She’d washed out the toner, then.

“Yes. According to your friends, they found you passed out on the bathroom floor.” Aranea’s eyes bugged out at that.

“P-Passed.. Out?” She couldn’t help but ask. The paramedic nodded.

“Thankfully, there aren’t any signs that you hit your head on the way down. No bruising, no concussion. But still the matter stands.” Aranea nodded. “Now, there’s nothing in your file indicating a history of blackout episodes, so I’m hoping you can shed some light on what happened here.”

“Well.. yes. This...it’s.. I’ve never passed out before, I don’t think.”

“I see. And you don’t remember anything before the bathroom?”

“No, I… I do. I was making noodles. Then… shower.”

“And after the shower?”  
____

_Aranea sighed as she gingerly dried her hair, and couldn’t help but scrutinize her appearance in the bathroom mirror. Her eyes lingered on the subtle color playing at the roots of her hair and scalp. Normally thick and fluffy, her hair had enough volume dry to obscure the brown creeping up; but wet as it was, it laid flat and did nothing to hide the contrast. Porrim had hit right on the mark - she was about due for a touch-up of her roots. The color treatment they’d done had lightened her her roots considerably, though. Dull sandy brown had given way to a yellowish blonde easily passable as strawberry, and for that, she was thankful. Warmth swelled in her chest. Porrim was right about another thing - girl time was nice, even if for her it meant companionship and not girl time proper._

_Her gaze drifted down to the rest of her reflection, and a pang of self-consciousness struck her. Though her shoulders were slender, almost delicate, there was no smooth transition to her chest, where her her breasts hung heavy. Shapely though they were, they were almost obscenely ill-proportioned to the rest of her upper body, and only the gentle rolling swell of her stomach offset the fact. And though she’d never found issue with her softness, her little shopping trip with Porrim and Latula this afternoon had her wondering. A lot of what the dark-haired girl had chosen for her would cling to her form and squeeze her in places she’d rather not be squeezed. And the tops were the least of her worries._

_Porrim had convinced her to buy not one, but two pairs of jeans that hugged so closely to the shape of her legs, they might as well have been painted on. They wore well, though. She could even squat and run in them, and they didn’t ride low. Cutting off the circulation in her legs wasn’t a sticking point as she’d feared, they just sit close to her body, but that was issue enough. Same with the shorts, though it wasn’t as if those didn’t have their own problems in addition, foremost of which was how short they were. Cutoffs with slightly ragged edges, with what little length in the leg rolled up as Porrim suggested done away with, she was sure they left the bottom curves of her ass exposed._

_Her mind flashed back to that first day, to Kris leering down at her even though she’d been so covered up. Being mentally undressed was a deeply unpleasant feeling enough in and of itself. But with these new particularly revealing clothes, there was no doubt in her mind that things would escalate beyond even that, and the thought made her stomach turn. And though she understood on some level that those kinds of clothes never inherently invited that sort of attention, they never really helped. But just the same, regardless of how conservative her clothes were on that first day, the boy had still made a pass at her._

_She could only cradle her face in her hands. The conclusion was obvious - either way, no matter what she did or how she dressed, she would still lose. Still be made to feel like meat by leering eyes, salacious gazes, and lascivious intent hiding behind insincere smiles._

_And suddenly, it was only distantly that she could feel her body, but also, vividly. The muggy heat of the air in the bathroom registered on her skin, but beneath the sensation was a new kind of cold, bleeding from what felt like a void opening in her chest. Despite the faint steam from her shower lingering in the air, a chilling wave rushed through her. Her hands grew clammy, and her throat seized up, chest suddenly heaving for breath that wouldn’t come. Her reflection in the mirror became blurry as her head spun, body feeling light in that moment. But that feeling of helplessness, of shame, flooding her form and building in the pit of her gut until her knees collapsed under the weight of it, brought her crashing down to the floor. Breath gone and feet no longer under her, her vision dimmed to black._  
____

The paramedic was furiously jotting down notes. After a moment of review, she spoke. “You _don’t_ have a history of blackouts… But you _do_ have a history of panic attacks?”

Aranea nodded. “I’ve never had one like this, though. So bad that I end up passing out, I mean.”

The older woman typed up a few more lines on her data pad before speaking again. “It’s not my field of expertise, but… I can file for a recommendation for the school psychiatrist-”

She was quick to cut the woman off. “It’s fine. I mean, not fine fine but stressful stimuli and usually I notice when I start to hyperventilate but that didn’t happen this time and that’s probably why I passed out. A combination of lack of oxygen and mental taxation because of the stim-.. Thing I was thinking about and… yeah. I… It’s fine.” A pause. Aranea drew a deep breath, willing herself to slow down. “I...I can manage. I have been. But… moving to a new school isn’t exactly stress-free. Moving to a new school in a new… sovereignty is less so, I’d think.” She let her eyes fall to the floor, and sighed inwardly in relief when Meenah gave her hand a firm squeeze. But she was still keenly aware of the intense scrutinizing stare the paramedic was giving her.

“Ms. Serket… I can understand your reservations about seeing a therapist, but something like this… It’s not something the school can just overlook. Especially if there’s no established precedent in a case. At the very least, you need to schedule and attend an appointment with one of the school counselors.” The woman insisted. “I can do the former now, if you like.”

“So…” Aranea began after a moment of thought. “If I do this, schedule an appointment and attend, I’ll be clear?”

“Like I said, not my field of expertise. But it is the minimum you need to do for this sort of incident.”

“And what sort of incident was this?” Meenah couldn’t help but cut in, an edge in her voice. Her hand lying in Aranea’s lap clenched into a fist as she tried to stare the older woman down.

At her partner’s words, Aranea couldn’t help but tense, shoulders going rigid and mouth going dry. She reached out and carefully laid her hand over Meenah’s, willing her fingers to uncurl. They did, but only to thread between her own and hold her tight.

“The kind where a student was in potential danger as a result of circumstances out of their control, necessitating the intervention by campus authorities. Ms. Serket fainted because she had a panic attack, and she had a panic attack because… something. That hole is what this appointment is for, to fill in the blanks.” The paramedic explained as her gaze shifted from the datapad in her hands to Meenah’s expression, evenly returning her stony gaze. “And might I remind you, Ms. _Peixes_ , that you have no authority over what Ms. Serket does or does not do, regardless of your relationship with her.”

“So you know who I am.” Meenah fixed the paramedic with a hard stare. The implications were obvious - whoever this woman was understood the relevance of her surname and the weight it carried. But it didn’t seem to phase her in the least. And while she applauded the woman for her nerve, she didn’t care for her irreverence in that moment. At least, if such meant that she was going to force Aranea into following protocol without a whit of care for her well-being. She her partner’s hand another furtive squeeze

The paramedic met her gaze, not with disdain, condescension, or anything of the sort, but a steel-nerved composure. After a moment, the woman’s eyes softened, and Meenah couldn’t help but falter in confusion yet again. “Yes. I was one of the people who worked with your mother to write up the first response protocols for students like Ms. Serket. Make sure that students get the help they need before things escalate, and should it be necessary, keep third parties from interfering.”

Porrim’s fingers tightened against her arm at the woman’s words. Though most of her attention was on Aranea, another part of her brain was furiously working. If her words were anything to go by, Meulin did have a form of recourse if her relationship with Kurloz went bad, assuming it hadn’t already. But only if the school had grounds to intervene or get involved. It was something to go on, but considering Kurloz’ discretion, such wasn’t likely, and she couldn’t help but scowl at the thought. She could only keep on, observing the exchange between her friend and the paramedic. 

“I know. But… I care about her. I’m not going to let her get committed to a psych ward for no reason.”

At that, the woman cracked a wry smile. “While your...partner’s... incident is certainly severe enough to warrant a mandatory meeting with a counselor, she’s not in danger of nonvoluntary committance.” A breath. “We just need to understand her situation better so that in the future, if such another incident occurs, we can respond appropriately. That said, you’re free to escort Ms.Serket on her appointment should she welcome the company.”

Meenah gave a terse nod, and relaxed her shoulders, before glancing towards her partner. Aranea had been silent throughout their conversation, and she couldn’t help but feel guilty for taking over. “...Nea?”

“Mm..mmm?”

“You okay? You’ve been really quiet, and I probably just overstepped some boundaries and I’m really sorry if-”

“You didn’t.” At Meenah’s worried expression, Aranea just shook her head, and gave the violet-eyed girl a weary smile. She ran a hand through her hair, taking comfort in knowing that at least her roots had been dealt with. The most she had to do to deal with the situation at hand was schedule an appointment with the school psychologist. “Really. My mum was the same the first time I had a panic attack in class and she had to pick me up from the hospital after.”

Though Meenah was nodding, there was still that look of apprehension on her face. Aranea just sighed, and slumped against her partner’s shoulder. “I’m just… really tired.” At that, Meenah did relax, and nosed her hair. After taking a moment to catch her breath and collect herself, Aranea turned her attention to the paramedic hovering at the edge of her bed. “Ms…?”

“Pyrope.” The woman replied with a sharp grin. Latula, for her part, just rolled her eyes as her mother introduced herself to her friends, and the little lightbulb buzzing in the back of Porrim’s brain lit up. She made a mental note to talk with Latula, and have her speak with the older woman about Meulin.

“Proper introductions will come later.” The older woman began. “May I presume you want to schedule an appointment now?” She asked as she brought up a form on her data pad before handing it to the blonde.

Aranea nodded, and after filling out an all-too familiar series of forms and questionnaires, returned the device to the paramedic before getting onto slightly trembling feet and wandering into the kitchen. “I’d offer you some tea or coffee, but…” She pulled a chilled bottle of water from the fridge before holding it out to the older woman. “I imagine you don’t have time for that at the moment.”

Latula’s mother took the water with a smile, bowing her head in thanks before pulling up her datapad. After checking over the forms Aranea had filled out, she called out to her men, and turned back. “Alright, Ms. Serket. You should be getting a call in a day or two to confirm your appointment.” At the blonde’s acknowledging nod, she turned to her daughter.

“Tula?”

The girl in question sighed, before calling back to her mother. “Yeah, mum?”

“I’m swinging by Thea’s on the way home. What do you want for dinner?”

Latula groaned at the name. Dinner at their house had been nothing but greek for two weeks running now. And though she loved dolmas and gyros as much as the next girl, eating grape leaves stuffed with rice and lamb and salad on pita four nights out of seven in a week tended to get old very quick.

“Can’t you go that chinese place across from the strip mall instead?” She couldn't help but ask.

“So.. number seven, chicken, and an extra order of dolmas?” Still that smile remained on the older woman’s face, though there was subtlest hint of mischief playing across her lips. Latula missed it completely, though, having cradled her head in defeat.

“Not… not the dolmas tonight. The fried bits with the cheese and spinach.”

“Spanakopita, not dolmas.”

Latula just nodded, before trudging up to the woman and letting her hair get ruffled. A low grumble saw the older woman give the group one last wave before heading out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Making good on that angst tag and 'Meenah Peixes is a disaster lesbian' tag :3c On that note, I will be updating the tags to include some... iffy stuff that happened in Nea's past as a heads up.
> 
> Feedback appreciated :)


	18. An Interlude 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gratuitous skinship ahoy!

Porrim slumped into one of the chairs around the table, unheeded by her friends save Meenah, whose eyes followed her into her seat. She paid it no mind, and just let her own flutter shut, willing the storm of feeling in her chest to abate, and the knot of apprehension in her throat to loosen. It had, somewhat, since Latula’s mother’s arrival, but still it lingered, raw and tender. After a moment more of just trying to ground herself, Porrim returned the look, staring intently back.

Meenah girl was of a mind to make her thoughts clear to Porrim in that moment. From what she’d gathered, the dark-haired girl was responsible for her not being able to get in contact with Aranea. She was also the one who’d organized and first proposed their group’s little day out and neglected to invite her, and evidently she’d also done something to trigger her partner’s panic attack, albeit unintentionally. After a moment of hard staring, however, Meenah just sighed, and and stalked towards Aranea ambling about in the kitchen. Hands tentatively alighting on her waist, she gently nuzzled into the cloud of blonde.

“Can’t believe you went on a daytrip with these two and didn't invite me…” She mumbled into Aranea’s shoulder.

Aranea, for her part, couldn’t help but laugh, gently nuzzling back and awkwardly returning Meenah’s embrace. “Didn’t have my phone…” She began as she turned towards Meenah. Her hands settled over her partner’s chest before drifting up to her face. Her fingers traced traced delicate patterns over the edge of her jaw, before settling gently on either side of her neck. “Not that it’s an excuse, but… there it is..” She pulled Meenah closer, before leaning up to speak, voice too low for anyone but the two of them to hear.

“I know you want to chew Porrim out, but please don’t. It isn’t her fault.”

Meenah just shook her head. “She was the one who set up this whole thing. She was the one who didn’t invite me, the one who didn’t call me, or at least tell me that you three were out together..”

“It was supposed to be a surprise.”

At that, Meenah could only stare. “Well, this certainly was a surprise…” she gestured to the room around them. Aranea caught her drift, and was quick to backtrack, giving her partner a sheepish smile.

“Different surprise. The good kind of surprise, I think.” She brushed her lips against Meenah’s nose.

Meenah returned the gesture, pressing a kiss against the corner of Aranea’s mouth before speaking. A reluctant smile broke over her lips as she spoke. “You _think_?”

“I was thinking that it wouldn’t have been much of a good surprise, but it was a surprise. What Porrim was hoping for, I mean.”

Meenah turned the words over in her mind. Porrim hadn’t called to invite her, or called her at all, because apparently what they were doing was supposed to be some kind of secret. And Aranea hadn’t called her for the same reason and because she forgot her phone. But neither did she call when they’d gotten back. A day out and about, such that it was still weighing on her mind, or the fatigue did. Nothing told her what it was they’d ended up doing, and that only aroused her curiosity even more. “What did you guys even do today?”

Aranea’s voice dropped out of a whisper. “Shopping. For clothes and a bleaching kit. Because my roots were starting to show.” she dipped her head and directed Meenah’s attention to the pale strawberry blonde at her roots.

Porrim had told her that much, though she hadn’t believed her at the time. Coming from Aranea, though, she was much more receptive.“So… just a girls’ day out?”

Aranea nodded. “Yup. Just girl time.. Porrim got a date, though.” she mused with a snicker. An audible sigh sounded from the living room at those words, and Meenah allowed herself a knowing smile and a soft laugh.

She was well aware of her friend’s proclivities, and the information didn’t bother her. And if what Aranea had said was anything to go by, her friends had spent the day being typical teenage mallrats, or thrift-store-rats in Porrim’s case. But that left the surprise Aranea had mentioned, and beyond the premise, she hadn’t elaborated. It was a surprise, however, that came courtesy of her friend. While normally that hadn’t boded well in the past, her partner was in on whatever it was they were doing. And her only issue, as far as Meenah understood things, was that it wouldn’t be ‘good enough’ of a surprise. It wasn’t a vote of confidence, necessarily, but a stamp of approval. After a moment more of silent contemplation, Meenah spoke.

“Y’all owe me some girl time then.” She mused out loud, stroking a nonexistent beard as she nodded her head for emphasis. Her fingers stopped midstroke at the sudden sly smile curling over Aranea's lips, however. Meenah swallowed thickly around the knot that had abruptly swelled in her throat and she couldn’t help but crack a crooked and nervous smile as her partner shifted closer. Blue eyes flashed dangerously with sudden heat and fingers drew down her chest to settle at her hip.

Aranea leaned in to whisper in her partner’s ear, but what it was she was about to say was cut off by Porrim stepping into the kitchen, and she immediately pulled back, blushing.

“I’d be down for pizza and a slumber party.” Her friend cut in. Latula appeared at her side, deep in thought, before shaking her head.

“Yeah, I’m gonna have to pass. I’m having chicken kebabs later.” Latula flashed them an apologetic smile. “I also need to wake up early tomorrow, so a slumber party’s out of the question."

“Well..what time does your mother get off her shift?” Aranea asked. “You could at least stay until then..?”

“Nine, usually.” Latula pulled up her phone. “So that means that yeah, I’ve got an hour and a half to burn, but I want to get some stuff done for my research.”

“You can use my laptop if you want.” Porrim offered. “And you don’t have to spend the whole night with us, just…” She worried at her lower lip. “Keep me company with these two.” Her words were punctuated by a pointed glance in the direction of the pair.

Meenah could only laugh. “Yeah, _you_ don’t want to get stuck alone with two hot girls for the night.” Her chortling was cut off by Aranea gently bumping her shoulder and gesturing to their friend. And contrary to the wry smile she’d expected, Porrim’s expression was sheepish, and somehow almost solemn.

“It’s not that. I just don’t care for being a third wheel.” She explained. The smile Meenah was expecting came shortly after, however. “Unless this is your way of inviting me into… whatever it is you two were getting up to before we met Aranea?”

Aranea couldn’t help but splutter at that, blushing furiously as she tried to deny the accusation. It was completely false, of course, but her loss of composure wasn’t helping, nor did the round of tittering that had erupted between her friends. Her partner just rolled her eyes as she replied. “W-we haven’t-”

“Nea and I only got to first base after the jazz club, _actually_.” Meenah bit out. The hard line of her glare softened somewhat at Porrim’s responding grin. No mischief, no impishness, only bemusement in her expression, and something else she couldn’t quite discern at the moment. She just shrugged. “So… yeah. I mean, y’all spent a day together without me, and I couldn’t get in contact with any of you. The least you could do is spend an hour telling me about what happened. Before Nea passed out, i mean.” She turned to Latula, then. “And you can pregame those chicken kebabs with pizza or wings.” Meenah gave the girl a tentative look, willing her to stay, if only for a little while.

Latula gave a noncommittal shrug. As it was, she had quite a bit of research to get through, more than what she’d be able to accomplish in an hour already slowed down by her friends. And dinner with her mother was a rare enough event - though she’d been treated to greek take-out for the past week or so, they’d only been able to actually sit down and eat together the few times. It was the blonde’s added stare that tipped the scales for her, however. Confronted with the full force of pleading, sea-blue puppy-dog eyes, and the hand wrapped around hers, she buckled. A reluctant grin pulled at the corners of her mouth. “Fine.. I’ll stay for a bit, but I really do need to get some work done, too.”

“I’ll get my laptop then.” Porrim chimed in.

“And I’ll order the pizza.” Aranea chirped brightly, before moving to rifle through a drawer of pamphlets and take-menus. She pulled a promotional flyer for the pizza place down the street and skimmed through. “A large Margherita and an order of wings good for everyone?” She asked.

Porrim gave an inquisitive hum. “What’s on it?”

“Mozzarella, basil, and roast tomatoes.”

“That’s it? No meat or anything else?” Meenah couldn’t help but pipe up. She didn’t particularly like the sound of a pizza without any kind of meat, but if wings were involved..

“Mhmm. It’s fairly light, so Latula could have a slice or two, and she wouldn’t have to worry about skimping on dinner with her mother later.” The girl in question flashed Aranea a thankful smile before heading out to the patio.

“Yeah, ok. Make it two orders of wings, though.” Meenah interjected before heading over to the stack of bags piled in the corner of the living room, leaving her partner to hunt down her phone and call in their order.

Porrim hovered by the door, mentally going over what she needed to pick up from her suite down the hall. She was pulled out of her thoughts when she caught sight of Meenah reaching down towards the clothes she and Aranea had bought.

Curiosity nibbled at the edge of Meenah’s mind. She’d not seen anything of the sort before when she’d dropped by to pick Aranea up for their date, which meant that the bags’ contents were likely what her friends had picked up in the afternoon. Her fingers were hovering towards one before Porrim called out to her. Immediately her hand drew back, and she turned.

“Should I bring a change of clothes or are you going to kick me out when Latula leaves?”

Porrim’s question was met by derisive scoff, Meenah’s eyes leveling her with her own. Her friend cracked a cocky smile before speaking. “That depends. Are you going to behave?”

At that, she couldn’t help but give an affected laugh in turn, before returning her friend’s stare.“I don’t appreciate your tone, young lady.” Came her reply. And though her words were sternly intoned, the ghost of a smile rising in challenge pulled at the corners of her lips.

Meenah, for her part, just waved dismissively. “Get out of here with that momfriend nonsense.”

Porrim fixed the her with an expectant look, then. “I’m serious. Are we having an honest-to-god sleepover or am I going to wake up to you and Aranea frigging each other in the kitchen?”

“No promises about the second thing…” Meenah began. “But it has been awhile since it was just the three of us without the guys. It’d be nice to spend some time without them for a change.”

Porrim gave an approving hum and a nod before opening the door. “I’m going to take that as a yes, then. Be back in a bit.” And with that, she left, heading for her suite.

Meenah was quick to return to snooping through the bags, but a pointed cough sounding behind her stayed her hand. She gave an annoyed sigh and turned to see Aranea staring down at her with a disapproving look. “What?”

Her partner’s fingers delicately weaved through her own, pulling her hand away.

“It’s supposed to be a surprise…” Aranea insisted firmly.

“Come on, I can’t even get a preview?” Meenah asked as she rose, looming toward her partner.

“I’m fairly sure you will, some time later. But right now though….” Aranea brought Meenah’s hand up to her lips and brushed a kiss across the back of her partner’s. “Patience. It is a virtue, after all.” she mused with a soft smile.

The quip gave way to a surprised yelp as Meenah stood and pulled her in close in one smooth motion, her partner’s free hand snaking around to her back and slipping up under the hem of her shirt to move against her skin. She gave a shuddering sigh and arched lightly away from the touch, but sagged against Meenah’s form. A strangled mewl issued from her lips as her girlfriend buried her face in her shoulder, and pressed heated and hungry kisses against what skin wasn’t covered by the shirt she wore. And as angry red lines rose in the wake of her teeth as they traveled along the side of her jaw, she couldn’t help but gasp.

Meenah’s lips moved lower, blazing a trail of dark welts along the edge of her collarbone up to her neck. Slender fingers slipped up into her hair, and as her partner tipped her head back to draw down to the hollow of her throat, Aranea couldn’t help but moan again. Meenah, for her part, grinned, a low growl rumbling in her own as Aranea’s fingers trembled against her arms. 

Despite her best efforts, Aranea flushed scarlet at the feel of a hand slipping down beneath the waistband of her sweat pants, and keened as fingers moved against her bare flesh. Her breaths hitched in her chest at each inward stroke, until she was barely breathing at all. Only the warmth coming off of her partner’s hand, and the blistering heat that had suddenly swelled between her legs, occupied her mind until she caught sight of Latula turning back.

“Meenah…w...wait…!” Her hand found purchase against her partner’s chest and she pushed feebly, and pleading. “L-Latula’s s-still..” The soft gasp tumbling from her lips gave way to a low whine as she felt those fingers move against the wetness between her legs and pull away, and she couldn’t help but roll her hips.

Meenah, for her part, just gave Aranea a wicked smile, crushing her lips against her partner’s in a bruising kiss before entirely entangling her even deeper into her embrace. She bent low to whisper a parting remark into Aranea’s ear. “I’m not the virtuous type, babygirl...” She crooned. “You should know me better than that by now.”

“I do… it’s just…”

Meenah pulled away, and fixed the girl in her arms with an earnest stare. Her arms loosened a touch as she spoke. “Do you want me to stop?”

“N-not… not completely. But would it hurt to tone it down?” Aranea leaned in closer, expression bashful even as she lowered her voice. “We have company..”

“And…?” Meenah was unflappable, devious smile settling back into place as her hands moved from the small of her back down to her bottom. And as slender brown fingers dug deeply into thinly covered flesh, and Aranea couldn’t help but stumble away, pulling her partner with her as her back found the wall.

“M-meenah…” She pleaded, voice soft and wavering as her breath came heavily. She was entirely too aware of each movement of her partner’s hands on her behind. “Come on...”

At that desperate whisper, Meenah couldn’t help but move from Aranea’s neck to her mouth and brush her lips against her partner’s. She drew a hand along Aranea’s back, tucking her thumbs up under the hem of her shirt before pulling upward and stroking along her sides with a featherlight touch.

Aranea could only mewl helplessly, the ticklish feeling twisted into something else that made her want to not laugh, but moan. Her own fingers fisted against the fabric of Meenah’s shirt, desperate for any kind of contact to anchor her amidst the sea of sensation she found herself drifting on. The heat in her stomach fell to between her legs at the first touch of fingers drawing along the lower curve of her breast and back into her sweatpants - from the front this time. And for all her efforts at twisting out of the embrace, Meenah held her fast against the wall with a knee between her thighs. There was no urgency in her partner’s motions anymore, but that didn’t help in the slightest. Each touch was intimate, reverent, and skillful as Meenah played her body like an instrument, each sound issuing from her lips another note in a sensual melody. Aranea felt herself melt against her partner as fluff filled her brain, the same kind that had her kiss-drunk on the night after the jazz club. And just as before, she found herself unable to stop, until she heard a soft but pointed cough from the direction of the patio.

At the sound, Meenah reluctantly pulled away, but not before catching her partner in one last toe-curling, almost bruising kiss that left both of them breathless. With that, she stalked back into the kitchen and began rooting through the refrigerator, not quite willing to look in Latula’s direction in that moment.

Porrim strode in with a laptop bag slung over her shoulder, a change of clothes under one arm and toiletries in her other hand. Upon hearing her enter the suite, Latula stepped back into the apartment and began clearing the table she was to use as a workstation. Porrim put aside her clothes, and after a moment, set her laptop down, sliding it over to Latula. She couldn’t help but quirk a brow at the curious tension between Aranea and Meenah, who was busying herself in the kitchen.

“...What’d I miss?” she asked tentatively, eyeing Aranea as she settled on the couch. There was a telltale flush of pink stubbornly staying on her cheeks whose reason she couldn’t quite discern. But all the same, she had an inkling of an idea as to why it was her friend’s cheeks were such a vivid red.

Latula just sighed as she booted up the machine. “Sapphic Eroticism the production.”

At that, Porrim’s gaze shifted to Meenah. As did Aranea’s, and the color in her cheeks only deepened at Latula’s words. Meenah, for her part, was licking her fingers and staring darkly at her partner, a lazy half-smile curling over her lips. And when her friend met her stare head on, expression perfectly shameless and wanting, she couldn’t help but think of cats and cream in that moment. She took her lower lip between her teeth as she quirked her brows in Latula’s direction. “They didn’t.”

Latula shrugged.“NC-17 at best. Although, I’m pretty sure if I wasn’t here, it probably would have been, you know…” She brought up her hands, sticking two fingers on each into the air before bringing them together in a scissoring motion.

“H-How about that pizza!” Aranea cut in, more than just a little desperate to put an end to their conversation, or at least, change the subject. She hobbled over to the kitchen and immediately began looking for plates.

“It still isn’t here?” Porrim asked. At that, three sets of eyes shifted to her, and she couldn’t help but smile sheepishly. “...Nevermind. But I mean, I thought it would’ve gotten here by now.”

“It’s only been five minutes, and the guy on the phone said it’d be ready in fifteen.

“I’m more interested in the appetizer..” Meenah crooned as she sidled closer, taking hold of her partner’s hand. “And the drinks, if there were any.” She couldn’t help but make a face as Aranea’s eyes flashed her way.

“We have drinks... “ Aranea insisted as she pulled the refrigerator door open. And so there was - a quart of juice, a few bottles of water set to chill, and milk filled what space wasn’t occupied by EZ salads, the cake, and containers of cold cuts. But Meenah couldn’t help but whine.

“Come on. If we’re gonna have a slumber party with pizza we need soda, not juice and milk.”

“Did you order from the place on 6th and Main?” Porrim asked as she joined the two in the kitchen. At Aranea’s affirmative nod, she continued. “It’s only a five minute walk. We could go and pick it up instead of having it delivered. They also sell drinks, so…”

“Yeah.. I’d be down with that. but ..” Meenah shifted her gaze to Latula in the living room.

“You guys can go. I need to talk to Blondie anyway.” Her next words were quick to cut off the Meenah’s incoming question. “Something for school. No need to get your knickers in a twist, MP.”

“Right. Speech and Debate.”

“Mhmm. So, yeah. You guys can leave her in my capable hands.”

With that dismissal, Meenah just gave a shrug and both girls made for the door. Porrim hung back, however. “Any preference for drinks?”

Latula gave a contemplative hum, silent for a moment before answering. “Something fruity. Maybe iced tea.” Aranea replied similarly.

After giving the two a departing wave, Porrim strode out the door after Meenah.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nice to see Nea takes care to keep a balanced diet. Would anyone believe that Meenah's favorite food is oysters?
> 
> Feedback is appreciated, as always :)


	19. Two-bit Conflicts and an Obnoxious Aesop

Aranea joined Latula at the table, offering her a bottle of water before sitting down. “I thought I could just observe-”

“Not exactly. I mean, you can, but… I sent her an email a few minutes ago. She said that she can’t write someone a pass out of class without good reason, so… I mean, she said that she would, but that you need to at least put a presentation outline together.”

Aranea stared uncertainly at the girl working away at her table. The conditions her teacher had laid out were exceedingly fair, but she wasn’t quite sure she was ready to deliver a speech on her first day. But then again, she supposed that’s why the woman wanted an outline in exchange for a pass out of class. “I thought it was supposed to be a forum?”

“It is.” Latula began as she uncapped the water and took a sip. “But even then, the people who do attend the practices usually have an outline or a topic. Need to be pre-approved though. They present, and the rest of us just comment or engage. We also usually pick presenters beforehand, or people volunteer. But since it is the first practice, we haven’t picked people yet. So… volunteers.”

Aranea nodded tentatively. A number of things ran through her mind, mostly potential topics. But even then, she couldn’t help but feel a little apprehensive. “Do I have a submission deadline?” she asked. Maybe if she had a timeframe, she could narrow that list of topics down.

Latula gave a contemplative hum. “Well… the practice is the wednesday after this coming one. Topic and outline submissions are due at least three business days before.”

“Business days?” Aranea couldn’t help but pipe up again, drawing an incredulous eyebrow as she stared at Latula across the table. Latula just shrugged.

“I don’t know why, dude. It’s just a thing.” It was another sip of water, and the sound of fingers clacking over the keyboard for a solid thirty seconds before she elaborated. “So… thursday at the latest.”

“Is there a minimum length to proposals?”

Latula shook her head. “Not technically. Or even, really. There is a rule of thumb though - the discussion of the topic and any arguments or points you make should take at around five to ten minutes. So… it’s not so much about length but more… depth, is the best way I can put it. Like, your presentation has to engage people. And, it goes without saying that you need to give sources in the outline, or in an attached document. Preferably the former.”

Aranea nodded. Such made sense. “What about limitations? Like, what topics are off-limits?” A due date some odd few days from now was something she could work with, especially considering that the minimum presentation and discussion length was fifteen minutes altogether. But if she was expected to turn in an outline and present, what she couldn’t cover was something she needed to know.

“Like I said, it’s teacher’s consideration. You need to get approval before even thinking of giving a presentation for a topic.” Latula explained. “But… she didn’t really say anything about you presenting on thursday in her email. I think she just wants to check you out, get a feel if you’d fit in the club or not.”

“Fair enough. But I’d make a very poor impression if i didn't at least get approval for a topic.” Aranea returned.

Latula smiled. “I could check in with her, ask if I can forward the email to you so you guys can get in touch?”

Aranea gave an appreciative nod and flashed her friend a warm smile before wandering into the kitchen. That was one issue resolved. Another was her upcoming appointment with the school psychologist, but considering that Latula’s mother had just sent the request, there was nothing she could do on that front but wait. And such left her contemplating the contents of her refrigerator.

As Aranea moved about the kitchen mentally taking stock of what she needed to buy, she couldn’t help but laugh softly. Not even an hour after quite possibly the worst panic attacks she’d had to date, and already she was up and about busying herself over more mundane concerns. That she’d passed out because her body reacted so viscerally didn’t do anything to diminish the light feeling in her chest, either. It was a kind of gratitude, she mused - gratitude for her situation, for her friends, their reactions some odd hour ago and her mother’s, years before.

None of the people she kept in her life took for granted how insidiously anxiety could affect her and she was deeply thankful for the fact. Though thinking on how different she’d be if they had, if her mother had trivialized her condition, saw a bolt of cold sweep through her at the thought. But the ghost of Meenah’s fingers stroking over the secret places of her body, her arms wrapping securely around her gave strength to her legs. The warmth lingering in her chest and in the pit of her stomach and stoked the fire of her conviction. Her thoughts turned to her partner, and idly she couldn’t help but wonder where they were now.  
____

“So…” Porrim began as she followed along behind Meenah. Though her eyes were taking in the surrounding buildings, the various storefronts and the people just beyond, and everyone else on the streets, most of her attention was fixed on her friend trudging forward with slumped shoulders. “NC-17, hmm?”

Meenah’s steps didn’t slow in the least, each one heavy, flat-footed and sure as they walked along Main to 6th. “Like you and Cronuts haven’t done worse.”

“Not with other people in the house, let alone the same room.” Porrim returned, strutting just a little faster to keep up with her friend’s unwavering pace. “We don’t do exhibitionism. You know that.”

“Yeah, freaks in the sheets, geeks on the streets.” Meenah replied flippantly as she rolled her eyes. “Except when you’ve gotten a few drinks in you, then it’s ‘everybody all aboard the orgy train’.” She mused with a laugh, much to Porrim’s chagrin. There was no levity in the sound, however, nor nonchalance. Something dark and hot had pervaded the expression instead and Porrim was only too aware of the fact. She observed in silence as Meenah gave the crossing light a solid punch. The air between them grew heavy, tension only emphasized by her next words. “A full _day_ , Porrim.”

Ah. “More like half a day, honestly.” She quipped with an easy smile as she strode up next Meenah, tentatively nudging against her shoulder. “A few hours at best.”

Meenah shrugged it off and just scowled, willing the pedestrian light to turn green. There was only so much of the well-meaning drivel issuing from Porrim’s lips she could take in that moment before she snapped. She spoke, voice low and strained. “You don’t invite me to whatever it is you do. That, I can let slide, you guys have your lives outside of me.” Another punch to the crossing signal saw her continue. “I get that. But then I find out that whatever y’all did was supposed to be a secret?”

“We were going to surprise you.” Porrim insisted. “Not… not with the paramedics and Nea passing out and what, but-” She was cut off by another steely interjection.

“That’s another thing.” Meenah cut in, trying desperately to keep the anger simmering in her chest from bleeding into her voice. “I can’t get in contact with her for hours because of you, and next thing I know, there are fucking paramedics at her suite because she passed out. Again, because of you.” She seethed.

Porrim frowned. More than just an accusation was wrapped up in the violet-eyed girl’s words, and though she could just about understand where her friend was coming from, she didn’t care for it. “And just what are you trying to say?” She bit out, not willing to back down, even in the face of Meenah’s mounting fury.

“I’m saying I’m pissed and it’s your fault.”

Meenah whirled on her, then, fury making the accusing expression on her face that much harsher.

“What would you do if you couldn’t get into any kind of contact with Cronus for hours? And when you actually go to see him there are ambulances around his building and a bunch of EMTs at his door. Like, imagine that for a second. Tell me what you’d feel.” She could only glare at Porrim, near breathless with barely-constrained outrage. And Porrim could only blanch at her friend’s words, and look on, cowed by the anguish Meenah’s eyes.

“A few hours, I’ll let go. Half a day, I can understand. But to top it off with that mess? To, after a day of not being able to talk to her, find out some mad shit went down that paramedics needed to get involved?” Meenah hissed. She fixed the dark-haired girl with an absolutely livid glare, unwilling to say anything else for her hands curling into tight-knuckled fists at her sides. She’d have done something else otherwise.

Porrim was only too aware of the fact - the anger simmering in the violet-eyed girl’s breast was too palpable. She buckled, after a moment more of enduring Meenah’s unsung fury. Tears spilled unbidden out of the corners of her eyes as she struggled to speak.

“Okay! O..kay, I… we should’ve gone back for her phone, I get it. I should have made it clear that she could’ve used my phone to call you. Shouldn’t have made it so that she wouldn't have wanted to, in that moment.”

Her voice wavered on each word, and she was on the verge of breaking down under the guilt swelling in her chest. And such made trying to keep her response coherent that much more difficult. “I get it.. I just… we.. I wanted to surprise you. With a good one. On friday. I fucked up, I’ll admit, but…”

Her words trailed off, then. It was no use. No matter which way she twisted the facts, no matter which angle she looked at things, Porrim understood too well that she was at fault regardless of her intentions.

“S-sorry..”

Her hands stilled halfway to reaching for the violet-eyed girl’s when she recalled their first stop, that first store in the arts district that had her spilling her guts and recounting her sordid life story to the blonde. It was a reflection unwelcome at the time, and even more so in the moment when her feelings were already such a mess. “I-I’m sorry..”

Meenah just sighed, and stepped up to the dark-haired girl before catching her eye. She leveled her gaze at Porrim, and once her friend had collected herself enough to speak, spoke in turn. “What even were you going to do? I keep hearing about this surprise, and all I can tell is that it’s why things went to shit in the first place.”

What it was that Porrim was going to say was cut off by the sound of the pedestrian light flashing green. The violet-eyed girl took hold of her wrist and stalked off, leading her across the street before she could get a word in. The strangled laugh in her throat at the gesture twisted into the helpless confusion she felt, and the best she could manage in the moment was a teary half-smile. She’d called herself the momfriend of their group, yet she was the one being walked around across the street and made to hold Meenah’s hand like some kind of toddler. A few minutes of silent walking brought them within visual distance of the pizza place, and her friend’s fingers fell away from her own.

“...Well?” Meenah began, voice leveled out. The anguish from before had waned somewhat, and creeping into its place was a weariness Porrim understood completely.

“...What?”

“You were going to tell me about this ‘surprise’? And don’t even think of pulling that ‘how is it supposed to be a surprise if I tell you’ bee ess. Just… be str-well, not straight, but, you get what I mean.”

At that, Porrim was able to manage a weak laugh in reply. She slipped her arm through Meenah’s, and when her friend didn’t pull away, held her tighter, deeply thankful for the steadying contact even if she did tense. “Just… I picked out some clothes for her. Pieces she can wear on friday. Most of them will fit with the rest of the things in her closet, too. So she could probably do something with them throughout the rest of the year. But… there are a few bits I think you’ll want to see for yourself.” Porrim explained. “I don’t think I can do those justice.”

At that, Meenah couldn’t help but quirk a brow, and the hard set of her shoulders softened, her face relaxed out of the lingering rictus of her scowl. That Porrim’s sense of style was impeccable was a foregone conclusion, and the thought of Aranea in clothes her friend had picked out was a tantalizing thought indeed. That wasn’t to say that her girlfriend didn’t dress well, but… their jazz club date had left her high and dry. The blonde had dressed, in her opinion, for an evening garden party, or dinner out at some fancy restaurant - conservatively, sedately, prim and proper and clean-pressed. But Aranea, loose and wild and not stifled by whatever it was that compelled her to dress like such, Aranea braving the sea of teenage hedonism by her side bedecked in all the trappings such a voyage warranted, Aranea drunk on life and lost truly revelling in her youth - that was something she wanted to see.

The pair entered the store. After checking in with the pimply stuttering boy manning the register about how much longer they had until their order, they settled themselves at one of the tables by the front and sat in silence. Meenah couldn’t help but regard her friend with new eyes - never in their history together had she seen Porrim break down the way she did at the light, even when confronted with her faults and failings. The girl had just brushed such words off in the past with a tight smile and sharp eyes. Whether such was the effect of Aranea’s presence in their lives or not was something she could only guess at. And if it was, she couldn’t help but wonder what sort of changes the blonde would affect on her, considering the difference in their relationships.

The dark-haired girl and her partner were, best she could tell, fast friends. But to affect Porrim to such a degree in so short a span of time, the thought boggled her. If what it was she saw in Aranea was something Porrim had been enlightened to over the course of an afternoon was not something she wanted to think about. Though she was already involved with Cronus, their proclivities as a couple allowed for that sort of thing. And Cronus, doubtless, would be more than amenable to the idea if Porrim herself was.

Only the weight of what had happened in her absence brought that train of thought crashing to a halt. Would Aranea be okay with it? Would her girlfriend be amenable to being so… not loose, but relaxed, about that aspect of their relationship? She didn’t want to hope, didn't want to entertain the idea of her partner losing herself in someone else’s arms nor the idea of someone else coming to regard the girl in the same way she herself did. But still the thought did linger.

Meenah stared at Porrim with heated, heavy-lidded and jealous eyes, but the girl paid it no attention. Maybe such was why Aranea and the dark-haired girl had become such fast friends. Or possibly, something much less explicit but so similar to why she herself had sprung on Aranea that first week. Unintentional, unforced, a natural consequence of who Aranea was at her core - it was an unwelcome thought, but understandable. Meenah sighed, and let her head slump against the table.

“You get an eyeful of what’s under my shirt and you don’t even blink, huh?” Porrim mused with a wistful smile. The tears on her cheeks had dried, but her eyes were still red and there was a slight hoarseness to her voice as she spoke. She stared down at Meenah, and stroked tentative fingers through the delicate fluff of dark brown on the girl’s head.

“They’re like mosquito bites. Not much of an eyeful.” the violet-eyed girl snipped back. She got a finger poking into her cheek for her trouble, but there was no force behind it. Nor was there any conviction in her responding gesture. She nipped lazily at the digit gently prodding her face.

“Well sorry if my boobs aren’t glorious enough that I can go without a bra.” Porrim returned evenly. A sly smile curled over her lips as she uttered the words, and only grew wider as Meenah lifted her head from the table. The expression on her face was as deadpan as could be however.

“...you’re wearing a bra, though.” 

“Exactly. So my baps _are_ glorious enough to warrant wearing a brassiere.” She met her friend’s stare head on. “And you _did_ look.” Porrim couldn’t help but giggle as Meenah let out a groan, and slumped back onto the table. “...what are you thinking about?” she asked softly, after a moment.

“Nea…” Meenah mumbled.

“What about her?”

Meenah sighed, and lifted her head off of the cool surface of the table. She gave a half-hearted shrug, unsure as to what she would say. Despite the weariness she felt, the lingering rawness from a just a few minutes prior, a tired smile pulled at the corner of her lips. Such was true - she was thinking of Aranea in that moment, but not a specific part or aspect of her. Just… Aranea, in her entirety. As far as she knew, her partner was… uninitiated in certain things, and yet here she was, already letting her imagination run with the image of her partner thoroughly debauched at her hands. And just as much, Aranea, golden and wholesome, hair slightly mussed from an afternoon nap and splayed across white sheets while the pair of them bathed in sunlight, letting the world pass by outside their window. 

A frown of disquiet marred her smile as she stepped back mentally. It was a pedestal, more than anything. Well-evidenced and supported by her experience, but a pedestal nonetheless. Meenah willed herself away from the thought.

Gold and white gave way to navy and silver, washed out and shadowed yellow. The pallid cast of Aranea’s face against the light of a computer screen, eyes darting back and forth over words she couldn’t see from where she sat; Aranea, the outline of her figure dark against curtains in afternoon light. It would have been a somber image, save for the smile this dream-Aranea flashed back her way. And all the same, her heart throbbed.

A part of her wanted to see exactly what kind of surprise she and Porrim had in store. And another tirelessly turned over the images she’d just conjured, relishing the accompanying want twisting thick in the pit of her stomach. But neither could diminish the tugging in her chest. It was regret, she realized. Regret at the realization that as far as high school was concerned, they had maybe two more years together. And in that moment, she couldn’t help but lament time lost. If only Aranea had transferred in sooner, then maybe they’d have seen and done more. If she’d not been such a self-pitying sad sack that June, maybe they’d have gone further than they’d already had. 

Maybe she’d have already seen the side of Aranea she was imagining - drunk on life and in love with living. Maybe, Meenah thought, instead of Porrim and Cronus, it would’ve been them two occupying the position of ‘old married couple’ amongst their friends. As the seconds drew on, Meenah found herself wandering down the yet unsung paths of their future together. And the heavy feeling in her chest gave way to warmth as she took in the scenery the pizzeria offered in silence.

Porrim looked on curiously, carefully noting the haze in her friend’s eyes, and the slight upturn at the corners of the violet-eyed girl’s mouth. “The surprise I mentioned, maybe?” the dark-haired girl ventured. A tentative grin spread over her own face.

“Yeah. Maybe. It’s just…” Meenah turned from the dining floor to her friend, and fixed Porrim with the most earnest look she could manage. “You and Cronus…” she began tentatively. “Do you two… ever think about the future? Like, together?”

Porrim quirked a brow, and nodded slowly, unsure of the sudden turn their conversation had taken. “I… kind of? Like, do you mean college, or, the band, or… what?”

“Yeah. College, jobs, careers, I guess… best way to put it would be…” Meenah chewed on her next words. If she’d said them, there would be no turning back. It would be an admission to herself as much as Porrim about precisely what kind of feelings she held for Aranea. She couldn’t help but pause, thoughts turning to her own history. There’d been her, there’d been Zora... there’d been more past relationships than she’d care’d to admit. And worse still, more often than not, she’d made mountains of molehills, imagined something deeper between herself and her past partners when there hadn’t. But all the same, again, she dared to hope and dared to let her heart want. More than the brash recklessness of youth, of the intent of making memories while she still had the time… is this what people were referring to when they talked about highschool sweethearts, she wondered? Or was the fluttering in her chest the start of something more? 

“Living together. Like…” Meenah willed herself to get the next words out. “...building a life.. Together. You and Cronus, I mean.”

The nod Porrim gave her in response was much more sure, as were her words. Her expression became contemplative for a moment, and then she spoke. “Yeah. We’ve… discussed our relationship, like what we’d do after high school, and so on. But not just us, though. I mean… Latula and Mituna too.” At that, Meenah couldn’t help but quirk a brow in question. “We.. all of us, I mean, we were thinking of going independent, after our term with the school studio ends. Making music on our own.” Porrim explained. “Cronus already has equipment set up in his place, and we’ve already got a solid fanbase, too.”

Meenah hummed. “Makes sense.” Her chest rose with a tentative breath. “But that’s not what I meant exactly. Like, just you and Cronus specifically. Your guys’ plan after we graduate. For like, life and…. Your relationship.”

The tentative expression on Porrim’s face returned as she tried to puzzle out the connection between her friend’s words. Her eyes widened after a moment when the realization dawned on her. “Meenah… you...?” 

Meenah nodded, but said nothing, letting the silence between them speak the volumes she couldn’t articulate. She sat stone-still, the burgeoning embarrassment in her chest becoming a confusing amalgam of feelings. Pride and genuine happiness were among them. But so too was trepidation, and she didn’t understand why. At least, until she saw the little light in Porrim’s head flicker on to full wattage. Her eyes squeezed shut as Porrim’s fixed on her, the concern in them evident. “Nevermind. Forget I said anything-!” A look of apprehension flashed across her face when her friend reached for her arm.

Porrim stared intently across the table, willing Meenah to meet her eyes. Her hand traveled down to Meenah’s wrist, and lower, where she grasped her friend’s fingers. “Are you saying what I think you are?” She asked. And when a firm nod greeted her question, she couldn’t help but sigh.

“What?” 

“Nothing. It’s just…” Porrim’s hand fell away, and she leaned back in her seat, eyes still fixed on Meenah’s. “I understand that… Zor-”

“No.” Meenah cut in, pulling her hand free as her eyes bored into Porrim’s “Me hooking… getting together with Nea isn’t me rebounding from that hot mess. God knows I’ve already done enough of that.” She insisted firmly. 

Porrim sighed as she folded her hands and met her friend’s stare. “I know. But… Can you blame me for being worried?“ 

“I guess not. But this… what we have... it’s me moving on. Actually moving on. Living life, with someone else.”

“Can’t move on without starting something with someone new?” Porrim returned.

“It’s been months-”

“And you knew Zora for months. Hell, you guys dated for more than a year.” Porrim cut in.

“What’s your point?”

“My point is that It takes time to get over someone. And…And I’m all for being on the rebound and just… letting loose, but Meenah..” Hazel leveled against violet for a long moment, silence coming to hang heavy between them and wash the static of the dining floor away. “Aranea deserves better than just being a rebound. You... deserve better than just a rebound. I can’t just sit by watch you piss it all away and...”

“And what?”

“And screw someone else over again.” Porrim finished softly. “For both her sake and yours, just because you can’t stand not being in a relationship.”

“No.” Meenah rose from the table, then, and returned Porrim’s stare with steely conviction. “What Nea and I have has nothing to do with her.”

“Meenah-”

“I mean that.” Meenah began, meeting her friend’s stare head on. “I get where you’re coming from, believe me. But..” Only silence greeted her words for a long moment, until Porrim leaned back.

“You’re serious about this, then? You and Aranea, I mean.”

At Meenah’s firm nod, the way her friend’s tension bled away at the confession, Porrim could only sigh. Over the past few years, she‘d seen Meenah enter into a string of tentative relationships that, while starting as strongly as she could have expected from relationships between people her age, had eventually fallen apart over time. Zora had been the exception. Or so she thought. She and Meenah had been dating for nearly two years when the girl broke it off, some odd few months ago. And in the time since, she’d seen Meenah, if unintentionally, string along countless girls, and had been strung along herself. 

Such was why she’d been so keen on meeting Aranea before. She’d seen the toll failed relationship after failed relationship had taken her friend, and more than anything she wanted to head anything of the sort off. But upon meeting the blonde, Meenah had changed. There was no tentative flirtation, no hesitant expressions of intimacy, between them. Something about Aranea had motivated Meenah to act first and think later, had spurred her friend to rush headlong into an exploration of the delicate connection between them. And her friend, for lack of a better word, was happier. Well and truly happier. She’d begun to feel more, if her confession was anything to go by. Porrim spoke, then, after a pensive moment. “You… you better be. You guys are adorable together.”

At that, Meenah rolled her eyes, pulling her hand out of Porrim’s. 

“Ok, then. What about you?” Porrim couldn’t help but ask, then. “What are you two going to do after high school?” Aranea had alluded to something along those lines before, fleeting though the thought had been at the time. Her rockstar wife and her crazy friends… that could only have been Meenah, herself, and everyone else in the band. 

“I dunno.” the violet-eyed girl replied simply, after a moment of trying to school her expression into something more neutral. “S’why I asked.”

Porrim nodded sagely. “Mmm… needed advice from dear old mum, hmm?” 

“If I wanted to know how to become one half of some boring ass swinger couple, maybe.” Meenah returned.

It was then the boy at the register announced their number, and she rose. Meenah was, getting up instead and walking to the counter, and after checking their order together and paying, the pair exited the store. They made their way back to Aranea’s apartment in silence.  
____

“I am _not_ one half of ‘some boring-ass swinger couple’.” Porrim snipped as they climbed the stairwell up to the second floor, though the effect was somewhat diminished by her labored delivery. She’d completely neglected to switch out her heels for flatter shoes, and however much of an exercise walking in stilettos provided, her feet were sore beyond belief. And so exerting herself, she was more than a little breathless, and couldn’t help but bemoan the fact that the elevator was out of commission.

Meenah, for her part, just laughed, coming in close to drape a heavy arm across her shoulders. “Yeah, keep telling yourself that, _granny_.” As on the street, her steps were sure and solid, a fact aided by the shoes on her own feet. A few seconds of climbing saw her outpace Porrim. By and large, vintage sneakers walked far better than heels, and Meenah could only revel in the fact as she stared down at Porrim from the mid-landing.

Porrim’s outrage at that particular quip was much more genuine, and she sent a venomous glare her friend’s way. But Meenah just smiled, expression much more earnest than she’d have thought, considering.

“Wipe that smile off your face, you brat...” Porrim seethed as she turned onto the first step of the second flight. Still that crooked grin. She couldn’t help but quirk a brow despite her lingering indignation. “What’s so funny?”

“Seriously though, just think about it.” Meenah began as she traded off the bag with the wings for the pizza precariously cradled in the dark-haired girl’s arms. “You’ve got a boyfriend whose biggest thing is the greaser aesthetic, which is like, more than a century old at this point. You spend like, half of your free time listening to old-ass music on a freaking cd-player..”

“It’s called vintage.” Porrim returned, muttering a soft ‘thanks’ as she handed off the pizza.

“Whatever. My point is, you’re too smart to pass all that off as some kind of weird pretentious teen phase, so, y’all are actually somewhat sincere about it. And to top it everything off…” Meenah opened the stairwell door, and her voice grew quiet. “You and Cronus… I know it’s been said before, but you two...are seriously like husband and wife. And not even fresh-off-the-wedding husband and wife. Like, second honeymoon levels of matrimonial commitment.” She motioned for Porrim to step through before continuing, voice taking on its usual faintly patronizing tone. “If watching you two get a little frisky didn’t make me want to throw up, I’d call it cute.” She finished simply, and sent a pointed stare her friend’s way when Porrim just glanced at the open door. “Age before beauty.” Meenah intoned, almost saccharinely as she motioned the girl through.

“Youth before wisdom.” Porrim replied evenly, going so far as to bow in turn. Meenah scoffed, but stepped forward anyway, adjusting her hold on the pizza and drinks and holding the door to the second floor open.

“What even do our hobbies have to do with me being a ‘granny’?” Porrim couldn’t help but ask as they made their way down the hall.

“Everything?” Meenah replied, with more than a little affected cheek. After a moment, however, her voice returned to that soft, thoughtful timbre. “Or nothing. I… don’t know how to put it, but… Like, you remember how Cronus was before I introduced you two, right? Grade-A fuckboy and entitled-as-tits shitlord?”

The dark-haired girl nodded, her face twisting into a somewhat confused expression. She gave a nod, motioning for Meenah to elaborate. “Okay…?”

“And then you shut him down hard when he tried to pull his usual gross shit, and after you guys started talking honestly, you hit it off?”

Porrim nodded again. “Yeah. He cleaned up his act, and he’s still doing so.” she gave a contemplative hum before continuing. “What’s your point?”

“My point, is that I’ve known that scrub for more than a decade now. In all that time, no matter what I did, I could not for the life of me get it through his thickass skull that flattery wasn’t worth a hot pile of dogshit as far as… getting with someone, is how I guess I can put it, is concerned. And then you waltz along, he goes through a...tenth-life crisis or something, and then suddenly, he’s making panties drop wherever he goes because suddenly he’s become a genuinely decent human being, all that casanova-wannabe nonsense aside.” Meenah couldn’t help but pull a face when she remembered what Cronus had done before the show from the night before. “And then he pulls that corny shit like what happened at the jazz club.”

Porrim just shook her head, though she couldn’t help but laugh at the reflection. Cronus had been about as scummy as anyone could get when they’d first met, dripping with artificial charm and personality so shallow that it wouldn’t even fit into a thimble. “Well, it helps that he’s as hot as he is. I still can’t believe you and he never hooked up considering your history together.”

At that, Meenah just pulled another face, her disgust made evident as she made show of pretending to vomit. Porrim laughed in turn, before falling silent. She and Cronus had first met some two odd years ago, and he’d come a very long way in the time since. But such was not what Meenah was referring to, as far as her comment was concerned. “Still not seeing how any of that makes me a ‘granny’.”

Meenah sighed, and gave her a sheepish look. “Okay, I… maybe granny was over-exaggerating things. I was thinking more like, you’re almost… milfy I guess. personality-wise, and… other stuff..wise.”

A soft peal of full laughter issued from Porrim’s lips in reply. “Milfy, hmm?” She mused with a quirked brow and a smug smile. It was as much of an admission about her status as the momfriend of their group as she’d get from Meenah. And she was going to milk the fact for all it was worth, when the opportunity presented itself. But for now… she’d let her friend go on.

“Yeah, like. You’re beyond just.. mature for your-well, our age, is what I mean” Meenah shifted her grip on the pizza before continuing. “Anyway, point is, I didn’t mean the granny bit like… however offensively you think I meant it. But…” Her words petered off as their content began to sink in for her. She’d been rambling mostly, on their way back, but now… she couldn’t help but wonder. Cronus Ampora, the singular most stubborn jackass she’d known in her seventeen years, had changed so abruptly when he’d met his current partner and her friend. What did such mean for herself and Aranea? Would she have a similar effect on her?

“But..?” Porrim prompted.

“Just… that kind of change. Cronus, I mean..” Meenah began hesitantly. “It’s… I’m wondering if it’s because he met you. And what you two have now.... And me and Nea.. you know?” She gave Porrim look, unable to get across what she was trying to say. Aranea… if she would have such an effect on her like Porrim did with Cronus. Whether framing them as such - herself corresponding to Cronus and her partner to Porrim, was even the proper comparison. And that wasn’t even going into the mess of feelings she had about their relationship. Most of them positive, as far as she could tell, but they were still a jumble.

Porrim, for her part, just smiled knowingly. “You’re wondering if Aranea’s going to change you like I supposedly changed Cronus. And if she does, what that means for what you two have together, right?”

“Yeah.” Meenah nodded. 

“It isn’t just change.” Porrim began, after a moment of thought. “The thing with cronus, and how he is now compared to before? It isn’t change.”

At her friend’s words, Meenah couldn’t help but furrow her brow. Porrim just laughed. “How are you doing in your chem class this semester?” she asked.

Meenah shrugged, even if she did frown at the none-too-subtle change in subject. She was doing well enough, if her grade on their first unit test was anything to go by. “Pretty okay, I guess. What does the periodic table have to do with anything we were talking about?”

Porrim laughed again, averting her eyes as a number of contrived jokes about menstruation ran through her mind. Meenah probably wouldn’t appreciate them at the moment, however. After schooling her expression into something more neutral, she continued. “When two substances meet, if there’s any kind of reaction at all, neither one will come out unchanged.” She rapped her knuckles against the door. “Like, beyond just meeting, beyond putting in the effort to engage. There’s an _element_ to good-well, proper relationships.”

Meenah just rolled her eyes. “Oh haha, fucking hilarious. Twenty nerd points to your smart ass for that little whatever.” She replied dismissively. It wasn’t difficult to catch on to what her friend was implying. The further implication, that meeting Aranea, pursuing what they shared, was the result of chemistry, was a little harder to think through, though. She spoke, after a moment. “So… what you’re saying is, me and Nea have chemistry, right?” A nod. “Yeah, already knew that, thanks. That doesn’t tell me anything though.”

“But it does.” Porrim insisted. “That kind of natural chemistry is rare. And with someone like Aranea… you’re both incredibly lucky to have found each other.”

“Okay, so… yeah, I get that, but, what does that mean? For us? For the future?”

Porrim gave a wistful smile. “Do you know why they call it ‘building a life’ together?” She asked. 

Meenah shook her head, and her friend just sighed. It wasn’t weary, or exasperated, but warm and knowing. It was in moments like these she could just about understand how well and truly Porrim was their momfriend. Her demeanor had changed. Gone was the nonchalant bonvivant, the high-strung hedonist. In her place was a mature, almost maternal figure, and she felt the shift in her chest as it unfolded before her eyes. 

“Like, what specifically you end up doing as far it goes depends. Goes without saying, but..” Porrim ran a hand through her hair, pushing her fringe out of her face, before continuing. “They call it that because that’s what you do. You toil, you struggle, you work… but you aren’t alone in the effort. You have someone who, hopefully, will reciprocate your efforts, put in the same amount of work you do, towards your relationship. That, is what you build, that is the life together, you build.”

Meenah’s chest seized with something at the flash of blonde as the door opened, and the familiar smile that greeted her. _Build. Toil. Struggle. Work._ Those words followed rang clear in her head as she entered Aranea’s dorm, and an answering grin spread over her own face, given strength by what Porrim had said. _‘But you aren’t alone..’_ Just as before, on that first day back in June, that first afternoon when she met Aranea’s eyes, she felt the warmth of a childhood spent by the waterfront. Greeting Aranea, and staring into sea-blue eyes, Meenah felt home. But just as well now, she felt the call of the road, of the yet unsung paths of their future together, and she couldn’t wait to see where it would take her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, having open and honest conversations are _worse_.
> 
> Feedback appreciated :)


	20. Girl Time, As It Should Be

It wasn’t exactly musical theater, and neither were they arguing. But Latula was cackling, and Meenah had let loose a gale of laughter that just wouldn’t stop, shoulders quaking as Aranea recounted their first stop this morning, and Porrim’s encounter with the cashier. The dark-haired girl in question, for her part, despite the reluctant smile pulling at the corners of her mouth, looked suitably chastised. But there was a thread of pride in her expression, one that grew until all embarrassment bled out of her face as Meenah spoke.

“That level of game though, like… damn..” She began, brushing stray laughter-induced tears out of her eyes. “Just… goals. Holy shit.”

“Probably helped that she was dressed to kill.” Aranea mused as she cuddled up closer to Meenah, before sending a pouting stare her partner’s way. Meenah, for her part, upon catching her look, brushed a kiss against her cheek, and the expression evaporated in the wake of an impish smile curling over her lips.

“Oh, Blondie… you don’t even know.” Latula mumbled around a slice of pizza. She jerked a thumb in Porrim’s direction and gestured to her clothes. The girl hadn’t changed since that first time in the morning, and so her clothes were wearing a little less primly, but the effect of her ensemble was still in full force. “This is literally how she dresses everyday.”

“Like a model about to walk the runway or shoot for a magazine cover?” Aranea asked

Porrim shook her head, but Latula nodded. “Pretty much, yeah.“ She turned to her friend. “Oh come off it. You know you do." Porrim just shrugged.

“Probably not going to make any headlines strutting a catwalk with the clothes in my closet, is what I’m trying to get at.” She turned her gaze to Aranea, who was looking at her with a confused expression. Meenah, more or less had stopped listening when the conversation shifted to clothes, and she couldn’t help but laugh inwardly. Latula, though, was still chewing on what she’d said, disbelief writ plain on her face. “Most of my clothes are second-hand.” She began. “Everything in my closet right now was either thrifted, or something I got from my mom. Proofs of concept, or leftovers from design that didn’t make it into the line for that year. So pretty much none of my clothes are cutting edge current.” Porrim smiled. “But, I dress well. That I’m not going to challenge.” Latula scoffed, and she allowed herself a soft chuckle.

“That goes without saying, but like, you could’ve walked up to her in yoga pants and a sweatshirt and she still would’ve given you her number.” the bespectacled girl returned.

“And you’ll note that I do _not_ have anything of the sort in my closet.“ she replied simply.

“Not anymore, anyway.” Latula mused with an impish smile, tone sly. “Remember those velour sweats? The ones with metallic print across the ass? What‘d it say? ‘Juicy”?”

The rest of her words were cut off by a withering glare, but Porrim’s dirty look didn’t stop her snickering, nor Meenah’s. Aranea smiled knowingly, but said nothing. The damage was done, though - she was just about imagining Porrim in said sweatpants, along with a white tank so thin the outline of her bra would be perfectly visible. The outfit the imaginary Porrim was wearing was rounded out by a pair of pristine matte vinyl hi-tops.

“I was young and stupid.” Porrim insisted.

“And tacky as fuck.” Meenah quipped with an easy, crooked grin. “Then you started wearing yoga pants and flats.” Porrim could only groan as her friends reminisced about her younger, poorly-dressed self. ‘They were comfortable’ was the line she’d used with her mother, and the elder Maryam had left it at that.

“Remember the ‘formal’ ones? The ones that looked like slacks but weren’t actually slacks?” Latula continued, still shaking with barely-constrained laughter.

Meenah nodded, guffawing at the memory. “Yeah! Like, when you showed up the first day and people thought you were the homeroom teacher, and all the boys started lowkey hitting on you when you came up to Cronus all friendly.”

Porrim grimaced inwardly at the memory. It wasn’t just her peers, either. When their actual homeroom teacher had walked in, the first thing he’d done was ask if she was the TA. And after that, not bothering to wait on her answer, directed her to the faculty room where the orientation was being held. Despite the blistering secondhand embarrassment weighing her chest down like a ton of bricks, she couldn’t help but smile vindictively. Only fourteen-going-on-fifteen and already being mistaken for much older. Back then, she’d taken the incident with a bit of pride, and upon reflection, she supposed she still did. But the idea that she’d dressed such to come off as some homely teacher had her seeing red. She turned her eyes towards Latula, who paled when she saw the dark-haired girl’s expression. An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.

“Since we’re bringing up all our dirty little bits, why don’t you remind us about what you used to wear back then?” Porrim purred, all sly little smiles and sharp eyes. Latula’s snickering cut off at that, and went silent. Aranea piped up, though.

“How did she dress?” She asked, more than a little eager to better understand her friends.

“Like a teenage dirtbag of the male persuasion. Chuck Taylors, baggy cargoes and shirts that looked like she borrowed them from an older brother, cropped and scissored to hell.” Latula bit her lip, trying not to die of mortification. Aranea gestured to her.

“Is that why you wear skinny jeans now?” Aranea couldn’t help but ask. Such made sense - her rebuttal to Porrim’s critique earlier in the day went something along those lines. Skinny jeans in place of cargos to, in her words ‘flatter her lean, womanly curves’. Latula’s face fell, and she let her head slump to the table. Porrim, for her part, gave a vindicated laugh at the question. After a moment though, she spoke, almost fondly.

“From preteen skater boy wannabe to actual skater girl with a ‘raditude’”

“Hey! Don’t diss my sweet moves just because you’re jealous.” Latula snipped back, almost genuinely offended.

Porrim just shrugged. “Progress is progress. Doesn’t matter if you’re measuring by feet or… inches, in your case.” At that, Latula sent a scowl her way, and the rest of their back-and-forth devolved into the bickering Aranea had observed in the morning. She curled closer into Meenah, before speaking, voice low enough that only they’d hear.

“What about you?” She asked, a warm smile curling over her lips and light in her eyes. No derision, even the playful kind they’d all been indulging in since the pizza had arrived, just an intimate, steady gaze. “What’s the story behind this?” She asked, voice almost smokey held so low, and sultry by any definition. She drew a solitary finger down Meenah’s chest, delicately stroking over worn fabric to where the cropped edge of her shirt stopped well above the waistband of her pants. The faintest brush of her fingertips across her partner’s skin was all it took to elicit a response.

“Question for a question, answer for an answer. Equivalent exchange.” Meenah replied as she brushed her lips across her partner’s cheek and took hold of her hand.

“Cause and effect. A question begets an answer, usually.” Aranea returned cheekily. At that, Meenah gave a soft chuckle, before speaking.

“I’ve never… really bought into the whole ‘clothes as a status symbol’ thing or ‘clothes as an expression of individuality’. Like, I don’t dress to make a point.” Aranea nodded, gesturing for her to continue.

“I wear what I want, when I want, and anyone who wants to step up about it can catch these hands.” She put up her fists for emphasis. Aranea laughed again, a low, musical sound, and Meenah’s heart beat just that little bit faster. She’d never get tired of listening to that laugh.

“But what about the jazz club night though?” Aranea asked. “You changed and borrowed one of my shirts.”

“Because I’m not oblivious? You dressed sort of fancy, and I thought I should too.” Meenah replied.

“Wouldn’t call any outfit involving parachute pants fancy, personally.” Aranea quipped as she gently prodded her partner’s cheek. Meenah just huffed.

“Fancier, then.” 

Aranea said nothing in reply, opting instead to lay her head against Meenah’s shoulder, at least, until she was prompted to speak by familiar brown fingers stroking over her own. “What about you?”

“Mmm?”

“Why do you always dress like a sexy librarian?”

At that, Aranea couldn’t help but quirk a brow, staring pointedly down at her current clothes before returning her gaze to Meenah’s face. She then gave her partner an inquiring look.

Meenah just nodded, flashing her a beaming smile. “Sexy librarian. Mhmm.”

At that, Aranea couldn’t help but roll her eyes and gently squish Meenah’s middle. She did give a contemplative hum at the question, though, unsure how to take Meenah’s words. A compliment possibly, though one heavy with empty flattery. Meenah had to understand that librarians didn’t go to work wearing sweats and a shirt, surely? Unless there was some kind of dress code in force at the libraries on the island, and that was where she was coming from. It was a fair assumption, considering she’d not yet even been to such since she’d first arrived. She’d been too taken with the idea of an artificial island with an area in square miles roughly the size of the greater metropolitan area of London. Her musings turned to nothing as the seconds drew on. It was likely that she was overthinking things, as usual. However, the question had roused a number of memories, most of them unpleasant. She sat up, pulling away from Meenah’s embrace to rest her arms on the table. After a moment, she spoke.

“You know those ‘before and after puberty’ things?” Aranea asked, voice at once wistful and pained, low and soft.

“Like where in the before picture it’s just some snot-nosed kid and in the next it’s the same kid but older and like, with a six pack and a beard?”

She laughed, but nodded. “Or some twiggy child actress and then the same actress but older and with flawless makeup and curves like something out of one of Botticelli’s works, yeah.”

“What about them?” Meenah asked tentatively. She could just about understand what Aranea was implying, and had picked up on the subtle distress in her voice. The kinds of physical changes puberty brought, beyond menstruation, acne and the like. There was usually a sexual element to the sorts of things she was referring to. Some reason why the actor was shirtless in the photo, or why the actress was in a similar state of undress or in clothes that emphasized their figure. She’d also seen things of the sort where exposed skin wasn’t a thing, and it was just a glamor shot of their faces. “Is… is that what it was like for you?”

Aranea shrugged. “Kind of. I.. was always on the soft side when I was younger. Pudgy, kind of chubby… like, I’d be say, ten in a picture but I’d look five or something. I didn’t stop wearing pinafore dresses until i was like, eight.” She mused, almost fondly. The photo of her her mother kept in her wallet was taken when she was around the age. And more than once, when she’d had to go with her mother on one of her trips, someone would always ask where the girl in the picture was. _‘Is this your daughter? She’s adorable..’_ And her mother would just laugh it off. She’d been eleven, and referred to as much younger.

“So… you kept the baby face for awhile, is what you’re saying?” Meenah stared at Aranea’s face. Such was more than true - to her eyes, despite their closeness, Aranea didn’t particularly look like an eleventh year student. Possibly tenth, much more likely ninth, because of her face. And then it clicked half-way. Her partner dressed the way she did to come off as mature, or at least, old enough to seem her age if not the littlest but older. “And you dress against that, sort of?”

“Again, kind of. Or, that’s part of it.” Aranea turned towards the violet-eyed girl, meeting her stare. “This..” She gestured to her face, her hair, her eyes, her mouth, her nose. “..was still like this when these..” Her hand shifted lower, to settle over her chest. She pulled the shirt flush against her body, until the outlines of her breasts could be seen. “..came in. And these.” Lower again, to her hips. 

Meenah bit her lip, but willed her antsy hands to stay by her side. Puberty and adolescence was a mess of a time for a number of reasons, least of all the physical changes the period brought. As a transitional phase of growing up, there was the conflict between being thought of as a child and being thought of as an adult - too young for some things, and too old for others. But the way Aranea had emphasized her body had her thinking. What she’d been chewing on was something her partner Aranea had been dealing with before puberty had hit, or at least, near the beginning. There was already a kind of dissociation at play, if she understood what her partner was getting at. The realization dawned on her, then. A teenager with a woman’s body and a girl’s face, albeit free of sweat rashes, pimples, and acne, a clear and flawless complexion. A wet dream for some, but a nightmare for the girl beside her. Rage as much as compassion surged in her chest, then. And in that moment, she wanted nothing more than to just hold Aranea, but her arms were leaden at her sides at the look on her face, and the darkness in her eyes.

“They’re still coming in, I think. Not as much anymore, of course, but… they were kind of an issue growing up, is what I’m trying to say.” Aranea finished simply with a rueful smile. Her eyes were hollow, however, distant and swimming with tears yet unshed. “Could’ve just said that from the start.” she muttered as she rubbed at her eyes.

Meenah's thoughts flashed back to what she’d said when recounting her incident in the bathroom to Latula’s mother, and then to the bags sitting in the corner and their contents. Contained within were whatever it was that had set off Aranea’s panic attack, that she understood now beyond a shadow of a doubt. She couldn’t help but feel guilt at being so eager to see her partner in those clothes - teenage hedonism and all of its trappings. Desire warred with the feeling, and she tentatively threaded their fingers together, willing Aranea to look her way. She sidled closer, burying her face in downy-soft blonde before mumbling gently into her partner’s hair.

“Do you still want to go to the party friday?” Meenah began hesitantly as she squeezed her partner’s hand. “I… I’d completely understand if you want to just… blow it off. Maybe we can spend the night in instead?”

Aranea just smiled, and gave an answering squeeze in return. “Yeah. I mean, no. I… I do still want to go to the party because... it’s kind of a waste, you know?.” She nuzzled Meenah’s cheek before continuing. “I know that you’re worried now, about what might happen, but… I knew what I was getting into, even before we left this morning. That’s why I went with it, tried to steer things my way instead of just shutting Porrim down.”

“What do you mean?”

“Shopping today might’ve been her idea, but it was for my benefit. Going to the party, dressing in those clothes…” She motioned to the bags in the corner, and Meenah gave a sheepish smirk. “I want to. I…” She pulled away from the violet-eyed girl for a moment, adjusting her position so she could properly curl into Meenah’s chest. “I do want to do this. Change, become… not someone else, but… comfortable enough in my own skin that i don’t break down every time some cross-eyed wanker looks at me like a dog and the christmas roast. Like you.” shifted her eyes up towards Meenah’s, and gave her the most purposeful stare she could manage.

Though she returned her partner’s stare, Meenah couldn’t help but roll those words around in her mind. A hesitant grin curled over her lips, then. “Well, can’t exactly help it if spending time with you feels like christmas. And you are a sight for sore eyes, any time of the day, any day of the week..” her words were punctuated by a gentle nip of of Aranea’s jaw, and a soft woof in her ear.

Aranea could only roll her eyes, but couldn’t stop the bashful smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. Trust Meenah to lift her spirits by completely and comedically misinterpreting her words. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

“Much rather be called a dog than a ‘cross-eyed wanker’, if I’m being honest. At least then, I’m kind of cute, like a little puppy biting people’s ankles and stuff, instead of, you know…” she squared her shoulders, then, and in the lowest, most unappealing voice she could put on, drawled in Aranea’s ear.”Hey. I’m Kris. What’s your name?”

The look of disgust crossing over Aranea’s face had her backtracking, but the giggly snort tumbling from her lips elicited not one set of raised eyebrows, but three. Both Latula and Porrim had pulled out of their little spat to turn towards the blonde, a curious look on their faces.

“Uhhh,” Porrim began, tentatively eyeing Aranea from across the table. She’d been wondering why the two had gone silent, but had dismissed it at the time. The sheepish look on the Meenah’s face told her nothing, and she could only turn to her friend’s partner. “...What’d we miss?”

“Oh, nothing. Just that this one…” Aranea patted the back of the violet-eyed girl’s hand before threading her own fingers with Meenah’s. “Was asking me when she’d get a sneak peek at what we have planned for friday.”

Though such was true - she did want to see her partner in those clothes, Meenah was recanting in light of what she’d just confessed. Reduced to an object for a large part of adolescence, and suffering from lingering identity issues from the time before, it was abundantly clear how far out of her comfort zone Aranea was with the clothes. But more than that, the party had her stomach tying itself into knots. Everything she’d said to Porrim in that bathroom conversation was coming back full force. And whether her friend knew something, or if it was just Aranea putting on a brave face, she didn’t know. She brought her hands up. “Look, you don’t have to if you don’t want-”

“I do.” Aranea fixed Meenah with an even, calm stare, though her hands were fidgeting about. “I do want to. Just… show off I guess. For you.” Porrim gave a knowing smile, and Latulla rolled her eyes, but she paid neither any mind. She just came in closer and Meenah did the same. “But it isn’t just for your benefit, you know…” Aranea began, voice too low for the other girls at the table to hear. “I want to do this for myself, too.”

Meenah nodded tentatively, motion imperceptible to anyone else but the girl beside her, staring into her eyes. The soft brush of her lips against Aranea’s became a searing kiss, such that her fingers tightened around her partner’s as a wave of something rushed through her, leaving butterflies fluttering in her stomach in its wake. Aranea stole one last nibble at her lips before turning to Porrim, leaving her pleasantly stunned.

“So, how are we doing this? Full makeup and hair, just the clothes, or…?”

The sly and bemused smile on Porrim’s face gave way to a more neutral expression at Aranea’s abrupt shift in mental gears. After a moment of contemplation, she just shrugged. If all they were doing would be a demo of what they’d bought over the course of the day, then full makeup would be a bit much. But that said, there were a few things she still needed to do, a few alterations she needed to make to a number of Aranea’s clothes before she’d consider them ‘wearable’. Further, she still needed an idea of how to coordinate what her friend would wear on friday - what would work well in addition to the clothes, which meant accessories as well as makeup, and hair. “It’s up to you. You’re the one modelling the clothes, after all.”

“Exactly. All I’m doing is standing around and, erm, yeah.”

“I mean, do you want to? Go in full makeup and stuff?” She asked after a moment of thought. Full preening would still be a bit much, but what effects could be brought about by a quick routine wouldn’t hurt, considering the fact that she’d be wearing what they’d bought throughout the rest of the year.

“Ok, maybe not _full_ cakeface, but..”

“Yeah, if you’ve got a cakeface going on, that’s when you know you have too much. But I get what you mean.” As Aranea stood and moved towards the bathroom, so did she. “Do you need help?” At her friend’s small nod, Porrim stepped in, ushering her away from the table before throwing one last saucy wink at Meenah, who could only roll her eyes.

Once sure the door was closed, Aranea retrieved her makeup bag from beneath the sink and a package of bobby pins from behind the medicine cabinet. Porrim stopped her cold before she pinned her hair back, and she turned towards the dark-haired girl with a confused expression.

“A hair band would work better for this sort of thing.”

“Oh. then... “ the blonde brought out a packet before resuming working with her hair. Porrim stopped her again before the elastic could be set in place.

A crooked smile, almost fond, pulled at the corners of her mouth as she brought up a hair brush. Aranea gave a sheepish one in return, but made no move to take it from her hands, opting instead to sit on the cistern of the toilet. “Maybe you should…” She gestured to her hair and her face before shooting her friend a meaningful look.

Porrim was only too glad to oblige, carefully running the bristles through the cloud of blonde on Aranea’s head, though she couldn’t help but speak up. “Do you not normally do this?” she asked as she brushed away any tangles in the blonde’s hair. Despite her slow strokes, Aranea’s hair was already relatively tangle free, her pace owed solely to how dense the blonde locks were.

“I… do brush my hair regularly, if that’s what you mean?” Aranea offered, a pleased little curl pulling at the corners of her mouth at each movement. There was something oddly soothing about having her hair brushed, rather than brushing it herself. She couldn’t help but think off her younger cousin and her wild mane of hair, and the relish she felt when she’d done the same for Vriska. Brushing hair was doubly therapeutic it seemed, and she made her contentment plain.

Porrim laughed softly as she brought Aranea’s hair back, wrapping a hair tie around the makeshift tail before pinning the rest away from her face with the elastic band. “I meant, this routine, I guess. I mean, you probably do, but…”

“Mm... yeah. My… routine’s pretty simple, I guess. Has to be, if I want to catch the buses.”

“Can’t really preen if you don’t have the time..” the dark-haired girl mused, and Aranea gave an affirmative hum. “You could always wake up a little earlier? You can do a lot in fifteen to thirty minutes, if you know how. I could give you some tips, or something?”

The blonde shook her head, or at least, as much as Porrim’s ministrations would allow. “My mornings are pretty rushed as it is, between setting up breakfast, showering, and getting dressed.. So, I don’t know.”

“Well, why don’t you ride with me in the morning?”

At that, Aranea couldn’t help but turn to the dark-haired girl, whose hands had finally left her head. “I was wondering about that, actually. How do you usually get to school? I’ve never seen you in the mornings, or on the buses.”

Porrim just laughed, a low and derisive sound as she pulled a number of things out of the little makeup bag the blonde had set on the counter. “No offense, but I wouldn’t be caught dead riding public transportation. At least, in this borough.”

“Then…?”

“Helps that I’ve got friends who live maybe five minutes away by car. And you do too, now.” At that, Aranea gave a tentative nod. Such made sense. But the thought of Latula chauffeuring the Porrim around all the time was a little too funny to be true. 

“You ride with Latula, then?”

Porrim nodded. Shadow, liner, pencil, mascara… she stole a glance Aranea’s way, before pondering the selection she’d brought out. All of it was barely used. After checking to make sure none of the cosmetics on the counter were dried out, she turned back. “Usually, yeah. If she can’t make it, well, I’ve got a moped and a parking permit.”

Aranea’s jaw dropped as she struggled to process that string of words. “Wait, parking permit?” The second wave of incredulity washing over her was writ plain on her face. ”Moped?”

“Mhmm. I try to use it at least once a week, but… helmet hair’s a bit much to deal with. Let me see your hand.”

Aranea obeyed, too stricken with what Porrim had said. A number of things swam through the growing storm of her thoughts, foremost of which were the fact that the dark-haired girl owned a moped and apparently occasionally rode it to school. Such was obvious - it wasn’t as if she’d have it and not ride it, though that was what she’d said - at least once a week, and sometimes she’d not even use it that often. Such considered, however, Porrim having a moped wasn’t as utterly wild as she’d first thought - it was a mode of transportation, beyond anything else. Latula had a car, and so did Meenah. She could only assume that both drove to school. At the revelation, the mess in her head started to clear.

Another train of thought, however, running parallel, turned sharply to intersect and join with the line about the moped. Porrim was as Meenah was - technically a signed recording artist and singer producing music professionally. Or at least, the band did. The band, of which she was the frontperson, and a band with a more than just respectable following. Add to that the fact that she was a dorming full-time student, with a rich social life, and an absolutely debauched personal life if what had been revealed to her in the afternoon was anything to go by. While not quite on the same level as learning that her girlfriend was, in so many words, a rock star, there was still something awe-inspiring about the situation at hand. And the sheer ridiculousness of the situation struck her then, as well as how truly well out of her depth she was. Latula’s words from the afternoon echoed in the back of her mind.

Porrim checked the color of each item against Aranea’s skin, bringing the makeshift pallette up by the blonde’s face and assessing the color before speaking. “Not a lot of people ride on mopeds back home, I take it?” she ventured with a smile.

Aranea shook her head. “It… it’s not that. Just… I mean.. Not a lot of people at my, well, our age, back home are, you know, technically rock stars, making music professionally and, erm, stuff. Then there’s the whole swinger sex dynamo thing, and living independently from your parents bit, and…” Her words were cut off by a cloth soaked in warm water being swabbed across her face, and a dry square of tissue following. Then came the liquid liner and mascara in short order. Porrim stepped in front of of her, placing one hand on the side of her cheek to keep her from sneaking peeks in the mirror.

“And...?” the dark-haired girl prompted her as she gestured for her to close her eyes. After a taking a moment to get used to the sensation of a brush feathering along her eyelids, Aranea continued.

“It’s like… you’re living a life most people our age only see in movies and on television. The music, the sex, the parties, the drugs-not, not that I mean to assume but, kind of goes in hand with the parties and such… and on top of all of that, your mum’s the lead designer of one of the most successful and famous fashion studios across the western hemisphere. And you live on your own, you’re a student, and… you’re still in high school for shite’s sake!” She exclaimed, more than a little frantically. “I mean…”

“Mhmm, and…?” Porrim prompted her again. Her friend’s incredulity was obvious, but the reasoning behind it was less so, at least, to her. “I’m afraid I don’t follow. What does me being in high school have to do with anything?”

Despite her words, she understood the gist of what Aranea was getting at. Not even in her twenties and already she was living an incredibly full life, juggling commitments, a packed schedule. And despite the pressure, she was relatively content, if not happy above it all. C’est la vie, and carpe diem - fortune favored the bold, and her history was precedent of such. And something about it all was causing Aranea distress - comparing how her friend had spent her own time and the fruits of that effort against hers, and Meenah’s by extension if she had to guess. It was a pattern she was all too familiar with, having spent years in that mindset in her younger days.

“I don’t know.” Aranea began, voice wavering around her words. “It… it’s just something I’ve been thinking about for awhile. That I’m… not like you and Meenah and the rest. I’m just…” with each word coming out of her mouth, a distinct sense hollowness of grew in her chest. Emptiness, cold and deep, and darkness, familiar and suffocating, in equal measure surged to fill that void. A sharp but brief pain in the center of her forehead dispelled the feeling, however, and the blonde couldn’t help but look up into warm hazel eyes hovering no more than a hand’s breadth away.

“No.” Porrim began as she ran careful fingers along Aranea’s cheeks, willing the tears in her eyes not to fall.

Aranea just shook her head, voice wavering around the words in her throat. “Porrim…”

“You aren’t ‘just’ anyone, or ‘just you’.” Porrim threaded tentative fingers through the falls of hair framing her friend’s face. A curious feeling welled in her chest as she held Aranea’s gaze. More than anything in that moment, she wanted to close those last few inches between them and press a kiss against her friend lips. But the thought of Meenah, however, no more than a few strides away waiting in the living room kept her where she was. As did Latula, and the words they’d exchanged before the blonde’s incident. She sighed, relishing the subtle warmth of her breath washing back against her face, and settled for brushing her lips across the faint red mark on Aranea’s forehead, before returning her focus to her eyes.

“I am where i am because that’s where life brought me, where what I’ve done, has brought me. It… it just is. Life, I mean.” Aranea gave a trembling nod, but still that distraught expression lingered. She continued. “Same for Meenah, for Latula, everyone else… comparing yourself and where you are to them and theirs… it’s asking for trouble.”

“But…”

“Take it from your mother-in-law.” Porrim quipped warmly. “All anyone can ask of you is to just live. Do what it is that makes you happy, do what you feel is right. For some people, that means struggling, for others, to just be. Or fighting, or planning, it’s…” The dark-haired girl pulled away, then, all too aware of how close together their faces were. She stood, and turned away, swapping out the palette in her hands for the pencil. “What I’m trying to say, is , well... do no harm, but take no shit. No one can judge you for what you do for yourself if it doesn’t hurt anyone.” She brought the point to the blonde’s brow and began shading ”Fortune may favor the bold, but not everyone needs to be bold. You’re fine, amazing even, just the way you are. Hell, it’s why Meenah’s head over heels for you.”

“Easy for you to say.” Aranea bit back, more than a little belligerently. “You’re… you’re you. You-”

“It’s easy for me to say because I’ve seen enough evidence for it to be true.” Porrim returned as she began easing the elastic band from the blonde’s hair, before pulling out the hair tie. “Comparing yourself and where you are to the people in your life, the people your age, you can’t help but wonder if you’ll ever be good enough. You wonder if you’ll have enough time to catch up, to get to where they are. You obsess, you worry… about not doing enough, and all that worry becomes this little voice in your head that tells you day and night that it never will. That it’s pointless to try…” she teased blonde locks into place before helping Aranea off the cistern. The last bit of her rambling she kept to herself, said it out loud in her head.

_‘Because look what trying got you - a divorce, a daughter who hates you, an empty house and a lifetime of cold evenings you’ll only ever spend alone..’ That night was the only night her mother had laid hands on her. Too far in her impotent rage, she’d not realized a line had been crossed. The woman had immediately apologized. Profusely. Begged on her knees for forgiveness, on the verge of tears. But as for herself, she was numb to the searing heat spreading across her cheek and the prickling in her eyes. All she’d felt was pressure, coming in on all sides holding her against her mother’s chest. Because it was the first time in so long that she’d just been held._

Porrim ran her fingers through Aranea’s hair, lost in her thoughts. “It isn’t pointless. It will never be pointless. Effort won’t betray you. Just living won’t hurt you.”

Aranea’s breath caught in her throat at those words, and the distance in the dark-haired girl’s eyes. There was light there too, but muddled by the halogen glare from the bulb set in the ceiling. Each stroke of Porrim’s fingers across her scalp eased a part of the emptiness in her chest, but brought a new feeling in its wake, more confusing than the last, at least for a time. When she caught Porrim’s eyes again, all that remained was contentment.

“Just living brought you here.” Porrim began again. “Just living had you meet Meenah.”

Almost as if on cue, the pair heard knuckles rapping gently against the door. She couldn’t help but laugh, and the tension that had creeped into her shoulders bled away.

“Yo. You guys have been in there for like, ten minutes. I know this is supposed to be some kind of girls’ time sleepover deal, but Tanya Hawk’s getting impatient.”

A scoff. “Tanya Hawk? That’s seriously the best you can do?”

“Oh whatever, I’m doing this for you.” Meenah bit back as she knocked again. “Latula’s gotta leave in like, a couple minutes. She wants to see.”

Porrim pulled Aranea to her feet, and brought her before the mirror. And upon seeing her reflection, her mouth fell open. Porrim flashed her reflection a warm smile. “Your crowd awaits.” she mused, before turning towards the door, leaving Aranea to admire her image.

“I think we left the clothes out there. Latula, can you bring them in?” Porrim called back after pulling away. It wasn’t Latula who answered first, but Meenah.

“Wait, why can’t I-”

Latula cut her off. “Because this was supposed to be for your benefit, MP. It’s supposed to be a surprise.” Her friend’s voice receded for a moment, followed shortly by yet another knock. “Yeah, I’ve got them.”

Porrim wasted no time, quickly opening the door to take the bag from Latula’s hands before shutting it again and motioning towards Aranea. “Ok…” She began, after taking a breath. She pulled out a blue flannel, the shorts, and the henley. Aranea took the clothes in her hands. “Just… be careful with the shirt. And remember. Layering.”

“Wait. aren’t you going to-?”

Porrim brushed aside her words with a delicate hand on her cheek, sweeping down to settle on her shoulder. “Sweetie, I did your makeup. And besides. I’m pretty sure Meenah’s getting a little antsy because we really have been here for awhile.” Her eyes flashed down to the blonde’s chest, and lower. “Not to mention..”

Aranea’s eyes followed the dark-haired girl’s to her chest, and to the two small bumps protruding from the fabric of her shirt. Her face immediately flushed crimson. Porrim could only grin.

“I’ll check in on you when you’re finished changing, ok?” Porrim said nothing else, taking the rest of the clothes and the bag with her as she left her to change.

And so, Aranea stripped down for a third time, wishing that whoever dressed her after her collapse had put her in underwear. The thought of one of her friends’ hands moving over her naked form brought that line of thought to a screeching halt, however, and she hurriedly pulled on the clothes Porrim had left her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I said, Best Girl
> 
> Feedback and comments are appreciated :)


	21. Of Shoddy Endings and Sequel Hooks

Meenah sent a pointed and suspicious stare Porrim’s way as she settled back into her seat at the table. Her friend had been in the bathroom with Aranea an awfully long time by her estimate, though she knew just how… involved she could be when it came to preening. The nervousness in her chest wouldn’t abate, however. 

Porrim only smiled and evenly returned her gaze. “Good style takes time. Just ask that one.” She gestured to Latula mulling in the corner. “On second thought, maybe not.” She teased, all too slyly. At that, the girl shot her a dirty look before stalking over.

“Y’all were in there for like, ten minutes. And you didn’t even bring the clothes. What kind of style-” Porrim just gestured to her face, then, and Meenah conceded with a grumble. And what it was Latula was about to say as she approached the table was cut off by a small voice coming from the bathroom. Porrim rose to her feet, snagging a few things from around the apartment before heading back in - the watch her friend had worn, as well as her locket, a pair of worn socks, and her shoes.

Though it took some trying, Aranea was able to tuck the henley into the black denim, and after giving it an adjustment in the chest area, she shrugged on the flannel. But as turned back towards the mirror, she couldn’t help frowning at the waistband of her shorts. Leaving it untucked would be too sloppy, but neither was she satisfied with tucking it in all the way. Upon hearing yet another knock at the door, she called out. “Porrim..?”

As if on cue, Porrim stepped inside, setting the things she’d taken on the counter. “Just get these shoes on real quick.”

Aranea obeyed, before coming to stand in front of the mirror as she shrugged the flannel off. She gestured to the hem of the henley with a sheepish smile. Her friend gave her a knowing look. “Having trouble?”

“Yes…” Aranea sighed, fighting back the blush in her cheeks when she felt fingers against her skin as her friend took hold of the hem, pulling it up above her waist. 

“Here’s a little trick…” Porrim began as she brought the hem higher, before pulling the fabric around her chest flush against her bust. Slender hands smoothed away the creases before settling back at her waist, where dexterous fingers folded the hem twice - once wide upwards, bringing the edge higher, and back down, before half-tucking the fold into the waistband of Aranea’s shorts. At the fold, Aranea couldn’t help but laugh, and Porrim couldn’t help but quirk a brow. “What?”

“Layers.” Aranea answered simply, pointing to the double fold. Porrim rolled her eyes.

“Seriously?” She bit out gently, reluctant grin pulling at the corners of her mouth as she strapped the watch around her friend’s wrist. Aranea said nothing, but gave an answering smile in kind as she clasped the thin chain of the locket behind her neck. As she turned to regard her reflection in the mirror, so too did Porrim. Smiles were present on both their faces, one of pleasant surprise, and another of fondness.

Aranea wouldn’t have thought to wear what she was wearing now. The collar of the henley still cut too low on her chest for her taste, but the cleavage she was showing off wasn’t obscene like she would have thought. It was almost tasteful, an appetizer to the buffet of eye-candy that was the rest of her outfit. The locket, settled just above the crease between her breasts both called attention to and away from her chest. Layers and contrast, fitted fabric, or at least, fabric pulled close to her body, alternated with draping and casual dishevelment. As the dark-haired girl noted in the afternoon, the volume of the flannel’s sleeves offset the slender profile of her arms and contrasted well, blending into each other through the rolled cuffs. And Porrim’s little trick with the hem of her shirt had struck that balance between untucked and tucked she was looking for. 

There was more, of course- the plaid pattern contrasting against the solid color, and the colors themselves played off each other, deep against the pale tone of her hair and her creamy skin. The telltale heat of embarrassment creeped up the back of her neck when she considered how exposed her thighs felt. But the feeling was quashed as she stared at herself in the mirror. For the first time in her adolescent life, Aranea looked the part of a teenager, instead of a librarian in training or a suburban housewife, and gladness swelled in her chest at the thought.

They turned towards each other, after a moment of companionable silence. “Well…” Aranea began hesitantly. “How do I look?”

“Ready to party.” Porrim quipped with a suggestive smile. She stepped back and stalked around the blonde, settling one hand on the girl’s shoulder. Her eyes drifted lower, to where the edge of the denim met the blonde’s thighs. “Probably should’ve brought in a pair of tights, too, but…we’ve kept your girlfriend waiting long enough, I think.”

Without a further word, Porrim pushed the door open and motioned her through. And as Aranea stepped out of the safety of the bathroom, that creeping embarrassment returned. But twisted into the heat was a hyper-awareness of how the edges of the flannel brushed against her thighs, how the henley wrapped around her chest. It was the same for the denim hugging the curve of her bottom, and the absence of material covering the rest of her legs. She’d have called it self-consciousness, but self consciousness made her want to shrink down and sleep. Rather, it felt as though she were waking, and the feeling was only emphasized by the change in lighting. As she stepped into the living room, Aranea took in her dorm with new eyes, before her gaze settled on Meenah and the expression on her face. Her own flushed with welcome heat at the none-too-subtle desire in her girlfriend’s eyes, and she ambled over.

Meenah, for her part, could only stare at the sensuous creature sauntering closer. Blonde hair, sea-blue eyes and a heart-shaped face - these, she recognized. But all of these features were set against all too eye-catching cleavage, miles of creamy thigh, and a delicate mouth begging to be bruised with a kiss. Her eyes wandered over Aranea’s body, her unspoken vow and hesitation from no more than a few minutes prior almost forgotten in the wake of the want growing in her chest.

“So… ” Aranea began tentatively as she touched a hesitant hand to Meenah’s arm. “Like what you see?” she crooned, in a voice almost foreign, excessively low and sultry to her ears. Meenah, for her part, just stared, eyes still firmly fixed to her chest, and the line of cleavage just above the neck of her shirt. Aranea’s hand shifted from the violet-eyed girl’s arm to her middle, where slender fingers traced delicate patterns along Meenah’s skin. Not even so much as a hitched breath. And so, taken by her partner’s lack of reaction, Aranea was caught completely off guard when Meenah stepped forward and pulled her close in a single fluid motion, their bodies pressing flush together.

Despite the intimacy of their position, as before, there was no urgency in the way her partner’s hands moved. Warm palms stroked carefully over her back, never daring to dip below the line of her waist. They traveled over her form in circuits, up along her sides, to the bottom of her shoulder blades, and to just above her hips, where Meenah’s thumbs eased under the hem of her shirt to tease against her skin. They didn’t linger, however. Her hands moved from Aranea’s waist to her arms, where warm brown fingers stroked down her wrist to delicately thread between the blonde’s. “Do we need to have a sleepover?” Meenah asked heatedly. In a voice low enough for just the two of them to hear, she continued. “She literally lives right down the hall. It’s not like it’s gonna be an issue for her to get home or anything..”

“Meenah…” Aranea insisted, even as her partner’s hands returned to her skin, stroking along her stomach beneath the fabric of her shirt. She couldn’t help but gasp when Meenah’s hands reached the undersides of her breasts and lingered, their presence impossible to deny. And just as distracting, was the mischievous light dancing in violet eyes. Her partner’s fingers edged higher, rolling and stroking over her breasts. “Meenah, come on… I... I owe her.”

“Mmm.. Don’t you owe Latula, then? For driving you around?” Meenah returned, words washing over Aranea’s skin in a warm wave as she feathered kisses along along the exposed flesh of her neck and her throat. She purred as she nibbled a line up to Aranea’s jaw, her response lost to the breathy sigh issuing from her lips.

“I… I do, and I intend to pay her back when I can. But that’s not… hhah!”

The subjects of their hushed conversation stood in silence, no more than a few feet away. Latula could only look on, mildly uncomfortable at the display. Porrim, however, observed, almost enraptured. Desire fluttered in her chest, for a number of things. To strip down and alleviate the tension growing in her gut, for her own paramour, handsome bordering on beautiful, to ply her in the same way Meenah was Aranea. Her friend, and most surprising of all, Aranea herself. As before, Latula’s words rang in the back of her thoughts like a reminder. All the same, she couldn’t help but let her mind wander. Aranea, her head resting on Meenah’s thighs, while she debauched the blonde thoroughly; Aranea, sweet and wholesome, coming undone as Meenah’s sharp and nimble tongue worked her over while she held the blonde close. After a moment further, however, her friend’s voice became an actual sound instead of a dim memory, cutting through the haze of her burgeoning lust.

“As much as I’m enjoying the little fondlefest you guys have going on here, I’d like to remind you all...” All was punctuated by a knowing and disapproving stare sent her friend’s way, and Porrim averted her eyes from the pair, looking almost chastised. But there was no hiding the smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. Latula just sighed. “It’s almost nine, and I need to beat my mom home.”

At that, the two did step apart, and all lingering sexual tension dissipated as everyone turned to bid Latula a safe trip.

“Blondie…” She began with a sharp smile as Aranea came closer. “You look hot as fuck I’ll admit, but your regular wardrobe will do just fine for the meeting next week.” Musical laughter greeted her words as her friend pulled her into a loose hug. And she, after a brief bout of confusion, returned the gesture with small but earnest smile.

“More than just… well… actually, nevermind.” Meenah quipped with a grin both salacious and sheepish. But as she came closer, the expression became sincere, or at least, as earnest as she could manage. Latula for her part, just rolled her eyes, but gave her a salute before going into the same handshake from the night before.

“Call us when you get home, okay?” Porrim insisted as she stepped up behind the bespectacled girl, wrapping her arms around Latula’s form in a crushing hug. She squeezed Latula, who could only impotently flail. And despite her evident distress at being so suddenly accosted, however, Latula smiled, and after a moment more of affected struggling, gave a soft laugh, and assured her that she would.

And so, the group dispersed. Meenah gently pulled Aranea into her arms before walking her out to the balcony, taking their soft murmurs with them. Porrim, for her part, loosened her hold, but motioned Latula closer. In a voice too low for anyone but them to hear, she spoke. 

“Seriously. Call me when you get home.” 

Latula was quick to brush her off, but upon seeing the urgent look in her friend’s eyes, quirked a brow. 

“It’s about Meulin.”

At that, Latula dug in her heels and fixed Porrim with a pointed stare, prompted her to elaborate. And though Porrim just shook her head and ushered her out the door, Latula just leveled a steely-eyed gaze at her friend. “What about Meu?” she insisted. 

After a moment of contemplation, Porrim stepped outside and gestured for the girl to follow, before calling back to the pair canoodling on the balcony. “I’m going to walk Latula to her car. Please don’t lock the door.” Upon hearing hearing Aranea’s muffled affirmation, she and Latula made their way down the hall.

“So?” Latula prompted as they descended the stairwell. “What about Meulin?”

“About what your mom said…” Porrim began as she led, heels clicking against the linoleum. “With the whole ‘first response protocols’ thing. Got me thinking. What do you know about what’s going on with her and Kurloz?”

“You probably know more than i do at this point, if i’m being honest.” Latula admitted reluctantly. “What does that have to do with the first response protocols though?”

“You can’t honestly tell me you aren’t getting weird vibes from what’s been going on with them?” Porrim returned.

Latula just shook her head. She could understand what Porrim was getting at - Meulin was their friend, after all, but regardless, pragmatism bade her speak, as it so often did. “Yeah, that goes without saying, but doesn’t answer my question.”

“The school can step in if something happens to Meulin and cut Kurloz out.” Porrim explained as she ran a hand through her hair. “And that’s assuming something hasn’t already happened to her, which, at this point, is unlikely, considering.”

Latula nodded. But again, she could only implore her friend against trying to get the school involved. At least, without a better understanding of the implications of doing such. “Anecdotal evidence is inadmissible in court-”

Porrim persisted, however, staring Latula down. “But it’s enough to prompt an investigation-”

Latula just shook her head, cutting Porrim off again.“If it’s delivered by the claimant. Which, as we both know…” She explained reluctantly.

Porrim could only scowl, and gave a beleaguered sigh. And there was the kicker. Meulin was tight-lipped enough as it was around them. Such meant that it was a dim prospect for getting her to go to the school and appeal for an investigation, and that was assuming kurloz wouldn’t try to dissuade her from doing so. Helplessness settled heavily in her chest, as well as anguish. After a moment of silent contemplation however, she spoke. “That’s… kind of why I wanted you to talk to your mom about it. See what options we have.”

At that, Latula gave a tentative nod, her mind working along what paths were available to them as far as Meulin’s situation went. Asking her mother was a reasonable suggestion by far - the woman knew more than she did, after all. But she wasn’t about to go off half-cocked about it. “Yeah, I will. That’s… probably a really good idea.”

“Probably?” Porrim bit out, the anguish in her chest turning to irritation and burgeoning anger. Though she could appreciate Latula’s level-headedness about the situation at hand, she didn’t care for the girl’s reluctance to act. Meulin had been the buffer between them as well as the glue that held them together, once. But such had changed when Kurloz entered the picture and the two started dating. And in the time since, neither of them had been able to pin the girl down or bring her back into their fold. That was the one thing that worried Porrim most of all - that Meulin would twist herself too tightly into her relationship with the boy, and that when it inevitably ended, they wouldn’t be able to reach her. The glare she was about to send Latula’s way softened, however, at the sight of her friend’s expression.

“I get that you’re worried about Meulin.” Latula began tentatively, expression pensive. “I am too. But going off and just raising hell’s gonna hurt more than it helps.” She laid a careful hand on the her friend’s shoulder and stared earnestly into her eyes. “Look. I’ll talk with my mom, get her input. But beyond that, I can’t promise anything, or that you’ll like what she as to say.” At that, Porrim just nodded, before following Latula out into the parking lot.

After one last farewell and imploration that she call immediately upon getting home, Latula stepped into her car, powering on the engine before peeling out of the lot. Porrim stood, eyes following the vehicle until it became too far off to see. With a sigh, she turned and began making her way back.  
____

Aranea gave a shuddering gasp against Meenah’s lips as the girl’s hands stroked over her skin. Exceedingly warm against her flesh, they contrasted sharply against the cool night air, and had her purring contentedly as they slipped along the curve of her waist and settled over her hips. She couldn’t help but sigh as they moved higher, drawing her flannel down over her shoulders to trap her arms against her sides. She arched lightly as they moved again, to the small of her back and drew up to her shoulders. But so bound, Aranea couldn’t help but frown as she struggled to return the favor, arms moving ineffectually against her partner’s sides. “M-Meenah…” Aranea whined as her partner’s lips sealed against her skin, teeth digging just hard enough to make her wince.

Meenah just laughed, a low and husky sound purring against Aranea’s throat. With her partner so bound, she bore down, touching every inch of skin she could reach. With her nails as much as her fingertips, Meenah explored her body. She drew both faintly stinging red lines as well as ticklish patterns on her skin as she committed every sound spilling from Aranea’s lips, every pleasured gasp and needy moan, to memory. She stepped forward, then, pushing a knee up between her partner’s thighs as she trapped Aranea against the edge of the balcony. She flashed half-lidded violet eyes up to sea blue, and smiled wickedly at the feel of Aranea’s hard gulp against her lips. Her ministrations only intensified as the seconds drew on, until she could feel the hard points of Aranea’s nubs poking into her own skin, feel each heave of her partner’s chest as she panted breathlessly beneath her touch.

“Yes…?” Meenah drawled out as she unbuttoned the fly of her partner’s shorts, fingers darting in to steal a quick stroke of yet-untouched skin.

“Porrim’s going to come back any min-ohh!” Aranea couldn’t help but cry out as Meenah’s fingers slipped lower, brushing over the downy-soft tuft between her legs. “She’s going to get back any moment…” She repeated, in a wavering voice thick with both tension and pleasure. When Meenah didn’t relent, Aranea bucked her hips, and cried out as the motion brought her partner’s fingers lower, to stroke against her soaked folds.

Meenah just shook her head with a low chuckle, but did ease up, and pulled her hand out from between Aranea’s legs, opting instead to shift her ministrations to the sensitive skin where her thighs met her body. The violet-eyed girl drew the blonde’s face up, and after a moment of just staring into her partner’s lust-hazed eyes, pressed another firm kiss against Aranea’s lips.

Though they’d stolen a number of kisses throughout the night, few had come to the same level of electricity the night after the jazz club. But now - alone in the privacy of the blonde’s apartment, both Aranea and Meenah descended into a kind of delirious frenzy, as though they were in their own little world. And the kisses they exchanged were clashes of lips so charged with the moment that both of them melted under the heat of the contact and had them breathless. In that privacy, that heat, had the violet-eyed girl clinging to the blonde like a sailor adrift at sea in the middle of the storm as she desperately pressed her lips against Aranea’s. Each wanting throb of her heart was thunder in her ears, each shuddering breath leaving her partner’s lips to wash sweetly against her cheeks a gale.

The blonde for her part, was the same. Soft gasps and low moans spilled from her lips as she relished in the pleasure of the contact. Each flick of her partner’s tongue across the roof of her mouth sent a bolt of ecstasy rushing through her like a wave breaking against the shore. A familiar and heavy warmth filled her head to tint her vision pink before her eyes fluttered shut. And as the seconds drew on into an eternity, she became increasingly aware of not only her heartbeat, but her partner’s as well. More than just electric, the feel of Meenah’s lips against hers saw a tempest of smoldering euphoria and want flood her veins. Her hands settled firmly over Meenah’s hips, fingers gently digging into the violet-eyed girl’s brown skin as her tongue met each stroke. The world around them faded, only leaving the presence of her partner’s body so firmly pressing against her own stark against the velvet haze in her mind.

Neither girl moved to break the kiss, until they heard a soft cough sound from the living room, and felt eyes sweep over their tangled forms in a curious and bemused gaze. Meenah was the first to sigh, and grumble as she reluctantly pulled away from the blonde’s swollen lips. Aranea, still luxuriating in the feel of a kiss so intense her body sang, made no move to adjust her clothes or fix her slightly mussed hair. She opted instead to stare dreamily at the the girl quietly observing them from her seat on the couch. She could only sigh at the small pang of loss that throbbed through her chest as her partner pulled away. But she followed Meenah all the same as the girl stepped back into her apartment, before flopping onto the couch next to Porrim. The violet-eyed girl followed suit, settling beside her partner. With a smile all too smug to be completely innocent, Porrim spoke.

“So… that’s how many bases now?” the dark-haired girl asked with affected innocence as she shifted her gaze to the pair next to her on the couch.

A sly smile curled over her lips at the tell-tale beginnings of a blush coloring Aranea’s cheeks beyond the heat lingering in her face from their kiss on the balcony. And though the girl said nothing, Meenah just returned her smile with a blank expression. After a moment more of silence, they stood and began clearing away the table and settled in for the night. A curious feeling stirred in her chest, then, halfway between envy and gladness. She’d not indulged in anything like what she’d seen on Aranea’s balcony all day. All the same, as she watched the pair move about the apartment, Porrim couldn’t help but appreciate the subtle and unforced smiles both girls wore. Domesticity with friends, and the sedate peace it brought, settled over them, something she’d not felt in a long while. And for the fact, she was deeply thankful.

Cleaning up didn’t take too much time. What pizza hadn’t been eaten was promptly squared away and set in the fridge. Same went for the wings and drinks. Aranea, despite showering thrice within the span of a few hours, followed suit as the dark-haired girl and her partner washed up for the night. And after, it didn’t take long before the girls were settling in - Aranea and Meenah took the bed while the Porrim laid out on the couch. Within a matter of minutes, only the soft sounds of the night outside the window and their breathing filled the air. All three had fallen sound asleep, content

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of these days, Meen and Nea _will_ frick, and it will be _glorious_. But until then, clam jam for everybody!
> 
> Feedback is appreciated :)


	22. Girl Time, Interrupted Pt.3

Meenah sighed softly into her partner’s shoulder, paying the lopsided stares and the disbelieving eyes of passersby digging into her back no mind. She was too taken with relishing the feel of silken blonde against her cheek, and Aranea’s soft warmth held between her arms. Only the slow and subtle rise and fall of her partner’s back between breaths, pressing against her chest, and her sheer proximity, kept her attention. Her hands moved, one shifting from Aranea’s hips to her middle, and the other to her back just a touch low, lingering on the upper curve of her bottom. An impish smile curled over her lips as she set her fingers moving, touch featherlight as they slipped beneath her partner’s sweater.

Aranea, for her part, just kept on, eyes trained on the page as she struggled to quell the urge to return the touch and smooch Meenah into giggling submission. A reluctant smile broke over her face. It wasn’t as if she didn’t want to. Just the same with the girl sitting next to her, her partner’s proximity was an undeniable presence made all the more difficult to ignore as slender fingers kneaded small and gentle circles against her back.

“I can’t believe you don’t want to go to a school dance with your girlfriend…” Meenah mumbled as she scooted even closer, fingers moving along her partner’s side.

Aranea just gave a small and pleasured sigh, and continued writing in her notebook. She disregarded the soft murmurs of discussion, the too brief glances sent her and her partner’s way, and could only smile before turning towards Meenah, warm sea-blue eyes locking with red-violet. She pressed a tender kiss against her lips and drew away. “It’s not that I don’t want to go to a dance with you..” She replied as she scribbled down a few more lines and laid her hand over her partner’s playing at her front.. “I just… don’t feel like going to this specific dance.” Meenah just huffed and held her a touch tighter, almost pulling her against her chest. 

“You still haven’t told me why.” she returned. Aranea spared another glance her way and quirked a brow, and she couldn’t help but give a shrug in turn before elaborating. “I get that you don’t, but i mean… is it really just because you don’t feel like it?”

“I believe it’s called First Homecoming?” Aranea began tentatively as she jotted down a few more lines. “I mean, there has to be a reason for that distinction? First homecoming of the year... There will be others, right?“ Meenah said nothing, but nodded in confirmation. “Then there’s no reason for me to go on Friday specifically besides you wanting me to do so.” she finished simply, before returning to her writing. Meenah whined as she sidled closer, almost climbing into her lap as she mouthed at her jaw.

“Nea, come on… at least tell me why? Like, beyond just ‘not feeling like it’.”

Aranea just sighed, and leaned into her embrace, pen slowing to a stop on the page. She couldn’t help but take a moment to contemplate why it was she didn’t want to go. All things considered, she had no reason not to go outside of what Meenah had said. But regardless of the fact, she felt some compulsion to not budge, to insist on not going to the dance on Friday. And for all she could attribute such to her self of two years’ prior, Aranea was sure it went beyond that. But just how far beyond, and in what way, she didn’t know just yet.

Homecoming, as she understood it, was a kind of teenage rite of passage, one she’d never properly undertaken back in England. Dances in general were such - an opportunity to be seen in public in a more formal setting; it was that element of formality that brought the association, or so theory held. Irreverent of such compulsory socialization, however, she had derided such events in the past. But, given the girl nuzzling her cheek, Aranea couldn’t help but wonder if her perspective wasn’t in fact especially skewed. Her thoughts flashed to her first dance, and what had happened after.

Back then she’d stood by her decision to opt out of going to the dance when her friends had made their disapproval of her choice clear. But her mother, in typical fashion, bade her to go, insisting that it was a chance to make memories with her friends. Within hours of that particular conversation, she’d been bought a dress, matching shoes, and a ticket to the Winter Formal. Resentment and regret, brief and subtle, stabbed through her at the recollection - she’d raised hell and railed against her mother’s choice, but the woman persevered. Her decision was made moot in the end. She’d ended up going anyway, and endured an agonizing two hours of sipping at punch and lingering at the catering table, weathered making small talk with anyone who’d tried to strike up a conversation. It was awkward, to say the least. But for all the fuss she’d raised during and after with the woman, a small part of her was grateful for the parental interference. The disquiet she’d initially felt was a product of the moment, and had passed within minutes of her arrival. The experience turned out to be enjoyable enough, in the end.

But further, that first dance was also when she’d first seen the other side of adolescence for herself. By the end of the Formal, she’d ended up packed in with a few dozen of her peers in some ritzy summer house, wasting the night away adrift on a sea of silk, writhing bodies, and bottom shelf liquor. And while she’d never particularly cared for that dark and dangerous part in the past, the experience was a valuable one. Within a week of that night, the scattered jeers that had haunted her steps through the halls of Wildersson before diminished to nothing, and people she’d only known abstractly were giving her the time of day for once. And it didn’t take long after that first party before she became a regular, weathering her burgeoning adolescence with people she could now most kindly call acquaintances. It all amounted to little more than hazy nights spent, forgettable even without the effect of alcohol, of being a ‘proper teenager’, as her mother called it. But it was that disconnect, prominent even back then, that fostered her sense of isolation, saw the awkwardness of Winter Formal blossom into her wallflower demeanor. And that didn’t help in the least when she’d started getting the kind of attention that saw her collapse in her bathroom a few days prior.

Aranea swallowed around the lump that had abruptly swelled in her throat as she remembered one particular night. She’d been sitting by herself, as she so often did, in one of the upstairs rooms nursing a warm flat soda when a boy had stormed in. He’d fallen upon her, hands digging too roughly at her hips as he slobbered over her face. But, drunk out of his mind as he was, he’d collapsed with a firm shove, not quite but almost unconscious on the carpeted floor.

A bolt of cold, brief but deep, swept through her as the briefly-lived terror of that singular moment surged through her, like a wound long scarred over being reopened. Sweat beaded on her brow and her palms grew clammy as her heart throbbed sickly in her chest for an instant. The revenants of fingers like claws digging into her skin, of a rough mouth moving across her cheek to press insistently against her lips, erupted across her form. In they wake, they brought forth the violation, the confusion and helplessness, she’d felt that night. But her breath didn’t waver, stayed even. Aranea honed in on the warmth at her side, and the subtle pressure of Meenah’s arms around her. And just so, her hands uncurled and she exhaled, carefully redirecting her train of thought back to the dance on Friday.

She was, by all accounts, intending not to go to _First_ Homecoming. But the others dances following? Those she very much wanted to attend, if only to experience such with the violet eyed girl trying to stare a hole into the side of her face. Meenah, it seemed shared her feelings on the matter, as far as they went. And possibly more, if her reaction to the little bit of girl time they’d indulged in a few nights prior was any indication. The chill in her gut was dispelled by the heat flushing in her cheeks at the memory. The ghosts of a cool breeze tossing about wisps of her hair, and warm fingers slipping along her heated flesh to delve into her most secret of places, moved across her skin. Remembering the sheer want she’d seen in Meenah’s eyes when she’d first left the bathroom had her heart pounding, rhythm erratic and furious as it thundered in her ears. A curious feeling flared to life in her chest, twisting into the tender heat already growing there. She couldn’t help but smile, then, as she observed Meenah’s expression - petulant and dissatisfied with her answer, her partner was almost pouting hard enough to make her reconsider.

Meenah just stared, expression belying the frustration simmering in her chest. Bordering on genuine irritation, she could not for the life of her wrap her head around why Aranea didn’t want to go. She did want her partner to go, wanted Aranea to want to go. But more, though she’d seen Aranea in relatively upscale attire, Meenah wanted to see her partner dressed to the nines - dress, heels, shiny bits, and all the rest. Put simply, she wanted to see Aranea dolled up like a princess, and the thought saw a bolt of shame rush through her. Again, she was mounting her partner on a pedestal. But the image of the blonde in a midnight blue evening gown, with her hair coiffed and her makeup done to lethal perfection, had her trembling. Her heart throbbed painfully in her chest, aching in the sweetest of ways as she took in every dip and contour of her partner’s face, committing each feature to memory. As want, almost searing in its intensity, surged through her veins and… something else she couldn’t quite name, settled thickly in her chest, Meenah couldn’t help but cup her partner’s chin and pull her in for another kiss.

Aranea, caught completely off-guard by the abrupt gesture, could only squeak in surprise as she suddenly felt Meenah’s lips against her own, soft and warm and familiar. There was no denying the urgency, the desire, that so thickly pervaded the kiss, however, and she was returning it in kind before she knew herself. Her tongue delved deeply into her partner’s mouth as heat flooded her core. Her cheeks flushed with crimson, and a low moan hummed against her lips as an all-too familiar pink haze filled her head. Tentative mewls became low desperate moans within the span of a moment, but just as abruptly as Meenah kissed her, so too did she pull away, leaving her almost breathless and completely stunned.

She stared, disappointment at the loss of contact, a hunger to continue, and confusion at the situation writ plain on her face. Her smile remained, however. “Not that I, um, didn’t appreciate that, but… what even…?” Aranea ventured hesitantly as she quirked a tentative brow.

As she stared into hazy sea-blue eyes, Meenah just shrugged and gave her an apologetic look before brushing another kiss against her lips, this one much more tender and chaste by far. But all the same she relished the brief contact, and the hesitation coloring her partner’s smile became simple adoration. After a moment, she replied, tone sly. “I… _just felt like it_ , I guess.”

At that, the curl playing at her lips became a steadfast pout, and Aranea gave a deadpan stare before stiffly turning back to her writing. She could only shake her head - she’d walked right into that one, and inwardly, she applauded Meenah for that particular tat to her tit. But then and there, she couldn’t quite appreciate her partner’s wit for a number of reasons, the feeling only aggravated by Meenah’s soft chortling laughter going off right by her ear. Her pen slowed, however, after a moment, and a soft whine fell from her lip as she struggled to ignore the fingers stroking along her sides and the warm mouth drawing along her cheek.

Meenah blew gently across the shell of her partner’s ear and kneaded her softness. Inwardly, she couldn't help but laugh at her own words, both out of self-satisfaction and schadenfreude - an eye for an eye, as it were. But further, it was perfectly obvious that Aranea didn’t appreciate her attempt at banter. Though, she couldn’t exactly fault the girl - she’d been less than completely upfront, after all. It wasn’t as if she could just come out and say ‘I just really want to see you in a gown so I can take it off and fingerblast you silly’.

As she took in the subtle crease of worry lining her partner’s brow, however, apprehension cooled the giddiness in her chest. Aranea’s meeting with the school counselor was today, and despite her outward demeanor Meenah was beside herself, worry twisting her stomach into knots about the appointment. Still, she couldn’t help but let her mind wander back to that image, of the blonde in an evening gown. Of that same gown wearing less than primly, Aranea’s makeup smudged, and her cheeks flushing red as her fingers thrummed relentlessly between her partner’s thighs. Shame and guilt as much as want and hunger flashed through her at thought, and she closed her eyes, desperately willing the confusing knot of emotions in her chest to go away. Meenah just sighed and slumped against her partner, burying her face in the crook of Aranea’s neck, before whining softly into her shoulder.

“Why are you so hung up about this?” Aranea asked after a moment, setting aside her notebook to properly turn toward the girl.

Meenah spoke, after a moment of trying to compose herself. “I just… I just wanna do stuff with you.” _And to you_ , she added mentally as she nuzzled Aranea’s cheek. Her fingers tightened a hair against Aranea’s hips, and she couldn’t help but sigh. “It’s already been a month….”

“And you’re worried we’ll run out of time to do things?” Aranea returned, placid smile becoming curious as her hands settled over Meenah’s. Though the question was a rhetorical one - they had a great deal of time before winter recess, and even more time before summer broke out, she couldn’t help but note the subtle affirmation in Meenah’s expression. Her girlfriend did indeed feel such, it seemed - that they were losing time they could spend together doing other things. And there was something in the sentiment she couldn’t help but find impossibly endearing. Whether it was a kind of fear or apprehension, Aranea didn’t know. But beyond just that affirmation, she picked up on the want, woven into adoration, that her partner made plain as she gave a tentative nod. Meenah wanted her, and her heart throbbed at the thought. She took her partner’s face into her hands and pressed her forehead against the other girl’s, lacing their fingers together before speaking.

“Think of it this way…” Aranea began, voice soft as she brushed her lips against her partner’s in an almost-kiss. A gentle smile blossomed over her face as she caught the violet-eyed girl’s warm stare. “It’s _only_ been a month. We have so many more…” Aranea kissed her again. “So many more weeks..” she scooted closer, shifting her legs so she could settle between Meenah’s thighs. Another brush of her lips against Meenah’s saw her press flush against her partner’s body, enticingly warm despite the cool office air and her breezy clothes. “So many more days…” She sighed softly against her partner’s lips, words trailing off as Meenah began returning the kiss, not with the fervor of urgency, but the reverence of adoration, of careful and whole-hearted affection. _Hours, minutes, seconds… countless moments just like this one_ , she mused inwardly as she let Meenah tip her head back to nip and nuzzle at her jaw. Contentment seeped into her smile as she felt her partner’s lips curl against her throat in a grin to match. “You’ll have all the time in the world to do stuff with me. I’m not going anywhere…” she cooed as she eased out of Meenah’s embrace.

Meenah, for her part, held fast, not willing to completely let her partner go just quite yet. She came in closer, peppering a trail of kisses down Aranea’s neck back to her shoulder, each one feather light as her hands stroked along her partner’s sides. “Ok, excellent points, but… I _really_ want to see you in a fancy dress.”

At that, Aranea couldn’t help but laugh, a soft and musical sound tumbling from her lips. “You are a shameless flirt, Ms. Peixes.” she replied as she eased away and flipped her notebook back open. Despite her words, however, a kind of giddiness fluttered in her chest. Aranea made no move to dislodge her partner’s hold, opting instead to sink into it even as she continued to write.

“Seriously.” Meenah insisted as she tucked her chin into the corner of Aranea’s shoulder to peer down at her work, eyes just scanning over the page. “You, in a floor length gown with your hair up. Porrim did your makeup so it’s just, lethal levels of on point.”

“Just the makeup, hmm?”

“The rest of it, too.” she returned as she pulled away, opting instead to slump against her partner’s shoulder. She brought her hands up for emphasis. “ The dress, the shiny bits, the shoes.. _God_..” Meenah let out a soft groan against her ear. “Do you have any idea what that image is doing to me? Like, seriously.”

“Flatterer.” Aranea replied simply. Such was too true. For all the sweet nothings her partner had whispered in her ear, the want she’d had expressed in her kisses, Meenah had done an excellent job in diverting her attention from her work. At least for a little while. Her eyes darted down to the notebook, going over the words as she gave her partner’s fingers a furtive squeeze with her free hand. She took up her pen, and started writing again, noting the reflection fondly.

As such, Meenah couldn’t help but look closer at what it was that had so preoccupied her partner. The notebook was the one thing that was keeping Aranea from paying her ministrations in kind, with interest. She relaxed her hold, but leaned just a touch more firmly against her partner. Meenah tentatively motioned to the thing, before giving Aranea an inquiring look. At that, her expression grew wistful, almost solemn, and her voice was the same as Aranea replied.

“Just some thoughts I need to get down for today…” she explained as she turned onto a fresh page. “For… the counselor, I mean.”

Meenah nodded tentatively before flashing violet eyes towards her partner’s face, an unspoken request. Upon the subtle dip of Aranea’s head, she carefully took it out of her partner’s hands and paged through the notebook’s contents, beginning to read. She couldn’t help but inwardly blanche after a few moments, completely lost for words.

Written in the notebook were more than just thoughts. It was a recollection of recent events beyond their first meeting put to paper, a diary chronicling the time she’d spent since moving to the island, dating back to a few months before the school year started. All of it, as reviewed from a perspective Meenah was sure to be rooted in her partner’s current state of mind. Her fears and her worries, her hopes and her desires - all of it was laid bare.

As she skimmed, Meenah noticed a singular word popping up, again and again in each successive entry - _‘change’_. Her partner wanted to change, wanted to be able to just live without the fear with which her mind so thoroughly colored her perspective, the fear that demanded she hold herself in check. Or at least, Aranea wanted to be strong enough to ignore that fear and step out of her comfort zone. And as Meenah read through her partner’s recollection of that first time at the aquarium, and the night at the jazz club, she couldn’t help but pause. An idle thought saw her recall Porrim and the conversation they’d shared on the way back from the pizzeria. Her friend’s words from a few nights prior flashed through the back of her head.

 _“It isn’t just change.”_ was what Porrim had said. _“The thing with Cronus, and how he is now compared to before? It isn’t change.”_

And for how often the word appeared in what she was reading, Meenah finally understood the gist of what her friend had said. It wasn’t just her partner affecting her, wasn’t just one-sided reaction and her changing as a result. That was why Aranea had gone along with Porrim last saturday - it was, to her, the first step in letting go of that fear, as she understood it now.

_“When two substances meet. if there’s any kind of reaction at all, neither one will come out unchanged.”_

Further, it was the product of their interaction - Aranea had been changed just as much by her presence as she was by hers. Aranea had grown to meet the standards she’d unknowingly set. Meenah flashed a tentative glance towards her partner, whose face was cast gold by the late afternoon sunlight as she looked back wistfully out the window over the quad. She couldn’t help but sigh as her heart throbbed at the sight. Aranea, drunk on life and in love with living, the Aranea she desperately wanted to see, was that much closer if the words in her hands were anything to go by. Aranea, the firm rock she’d made her home, was still that despite how she had been changed, again because of their budding relationship. The timid girl she’d first understood her partner to be had departed, and a new, surer young woman was taking her place. But all the same, that warm, sedately affectionate and steady part of Aranea’s personality stood fast. The spark, so intrinsic to who the girl was at her core, the thing about her partner that had so ensnared her that first day, remained.

_“That kind of natural chemistry is rare. And with someone like Aranea… you’re both incredibly lucky to have found each other.”_

In that moment, the implication of Porrim’s words had her reeling. There was a luck in at play in her life beyond the fortune of being born to her mother, coming into the world and her station, all the privileges it brought. She keenly felt the sheer serendipity that had so overtly defined her life as she reflected on those words and the blonde’s thoughts, staring back at her from the page. Meenah felt blessed, for lack of a better word, that she’d met Aranea. And she couldn’t help but wonder in anticipation of the yet unsung paths of her future as she continued reading.

_“You have someone who, hopefully, will reciprocate your efforts, put in the same amount of work you do, towards your relationship. That, is what you build, that is the life together, you build.”_

Each word echoed in the darkened spaces of her wandering mind, and Meenah couldn’t help but lean into the girl at her side that much more firmly. Determination surged through her. If her partner was to be her rock, then she’d be the same for Aranea - a safe harbour in the face of the storm and all the tempestuous uncertainty in the twilight of their adolescence. Trepidation at the coming friday was twisted into the protectiveness simmering in her chest and woven into the warmth fluttering in her stomach.

As she contemplated the day, and her partner’s appointment coming up in a few minutes, Meenah’s thoughts couldn’t help but wander to what had prompted the intervention. Anxiety so insidious had stolen away the girl's breath, and so heavy she’d collapsed under the weight of it hanging heavy on her mind. That anxiety was the single most foreboding obstacle to Aranea’s path forward. Violet eyes flashed towards Aranea’s face again. Not a trace of the weariness that had so thickly colored her partner’s expression from that night remained despite the incident that had occurred then was why they were sitting just outside the counseling office waiting room. But as the receptionist opened the door and called out to them, Meenah saw all too clearly the apprehension that flashed briefly across Aranea’s face. Once the woman slipped back inside, she spoke.

“Are you ready?” Meenah asked tentatively as they rose. Her partner just sighed, and leveled her gaze. There was something belied by her expression - an ironclad resolve, and a steely determination, at the center of it all. But the apprehension Meenah had just seen was there too - the weary resignation, disquiet, and fatigue, all of them stormed in the sea blue of her partner’s eyes.

“As ready as I’ll ever be..” Aranea replied. Despite her words, her voice was at once sullen and wistful, unsure . She stepped in close and grasped Meenah’s hand, carefully taking hold of the notebook in her partner’s grip, before flashing her a hesitant but hopeful smile.“I’ll see you when I’m done, ok?”

Meenah nodded and loomed forward, pulling her partner into a clumsy but firm embrace as worry for her partner flared in her chest. Aranea returned the gesture, tightly wrapping her arms around her form. They stood there for a moment, just holding each other in silence, neither girl daring to speak a further word.

But just as abruptly, Meenah felt Aranea’s arms around her loosen, felt her step away. Cold rose in her gut at the loss of contact, but she forced the dread hanging heavy in her chest down, forced herself to return the last smile her partner flashed her way. And just so, Aranea back and stepped into the office, leaving her in the hall alone with her thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obligatory fluffy chapter, because god knows the angst will come back with a vengeance later down the line.
> 
> Comments and feedback appreciated :)


	23. Old Ghosts: The Second Coming

Aranea’s reception was a blur. Nothing registered as her eyes glanced over the pages of forms the woman at the front desk set down in front of her, her hands mechanically filling out each and setting them aside. All too soon after, she found herself being ushered into a room further into the office and made to sit in a chair. More than anything, she wanted Meenah by her side in that moment; but the receptionist had been clear - the appointment wasn’t for her partner, but her.

Her eyes idly wandered about the space as she tried to put herself at ease. All the same, however, as she took in the various knick knacks and personal effects scattered around the desk, disquiet still twisted her stomach into knots and a restless energy bled into her limbs. For all her past experience with this particular song and dance, she had no idea what to expect of the person assigned to her case. Whether they’d put her at ease enough for her to actually speak, or if she’d keep herself tight-lipped throughout this appointment, she didn’t know.

The seconds drew on in silence, each one an eternity of familiar and anxious discomfort as she waited for the counselor to arrive. As her eyes wandered about the room, Aranea couldn’t help but let her thoughts turn to the coming friday, and the night that would surely follow. Meenah had said it had been nearly a month since they’d first met, nearly a month since that first golden afternoon. And while in the time since she’d never had to deal with the subtle taunting she’d endured in her first semester at Wildersson, neither had she been engaged the same way she’d seen after that first party. There were the odd stares to be sure, following them as they’d made their way through the halls hand in hand - some disbelieving and awestruck, others admiring, more than a few salacious and lurid. A pointed glare from her partner had seen those dissolve in shame, of course. And just as well, the thought of those stares saw a bolt of self-consciousness surge through her, until she remembered the hyper-awareness she’d felt saturday night, when Meenah first saw her in her new clothes. It was self-consciousness of a sort, but it didn’t come with the sickly and insidious feeling she so often associated with such. Rather, Aranea almost felt compelled to revel in the desire she’d incited in her partner, and return Meenah’s want in kind. The thought saw a familiar and welcome warmth blossom in her chest, but beyond that peaceful intimacy, was more.

A curious giddiness followed in its wake as she let her mind work. Violet eyes glittering with equal parts mischief and delight warm brown skin, and full, soft lips planting heated kiss over every inch of her skin they could reach, flashed through her head. All the bits and pieces of sensorium she’d come to so well associate with her partner, stood out stark. But further, they all amounted to a guiding light and a breath she’d been holding too long finally being released. The countless nights in her past she’d spent hanging on the wall in silence, apart and out of place, became mere memory as she contemplated the fluttering in her chest. It was anticipation, the blonde realized, anticipation at the coming friday, and excitement. The thought of the violet-eyed girl at her side conjured the sensation of a familiar hand in hers, sure and solid - no longer would she blindly stumble through the rabbit hole of teenage hedonism. But rather, so emboldened and guided by her partner, she’d explore that topsy-turvy world properly with gusto.

Aranea couldn’t help but smile, a small but almost manic grin pulling at the corners of her mouth as she let that thought fill her head. Everything she’d seen and wanted when she was younger was within reach. All the teenage comedies and dramas she’d watched with Vriska, the kind of adolescence that had hovered beyond her grasp and haunted her as she watched her friends indulge without worry or care, was almost hers. _Beats and rhythms pounding so loudly they shook the walls. The heat of air thick with youthful abandon, light muddied by a thin haze of smoke. And the warm blurriness at the edges of vision courtesy of alcohol swimming in her veins._ These were things she knew well enough. But that such was more or less what she was going to see the coming friday wasn’t the cause for her burgeoning excitement. Rather, it was the thought of her fear, the trepidation that had compelled her to stay by the wayside, finally being exorcised out of her mind that gave way to her immutable anticipation for Friday. And just so, her discomfort receded, long forgotten.

She was pulled out of her musings by the sound of the door opening, and the soft voice that followed, dissolving the silence in the room. She stood turned towards its source - a woman, probably not much taller than herself, in a cool grey button up and a worn-looking, pale blue cardigan.

“Aranea Serket?” the woman asked as she stepped around to the other side of the table. The hand she extended was like her voice - soft, almost small, and smooth.

She nodded tentatively as she stood and took the woman’s hand. She settled back into her seat and watched in silence as her counselor booted up the desktop and pulled a file from one of the desk drawers. She didn’t trust herself to say a coherent word quite yet. The nervousness she’d felt when she’d first entered the room flared in her chest again for a moment as the woman turned to her. But just as quickly as it had risen, that tension diminished somewhat when she saw her counselor’s face properly. Deep brown and kind-looking eyes stood out from a deceptively youthful complexion, made all the more prominent by the pale cream-colored scarf she wore around her head. The knot in her chest loosened.

“My name is Selma Kurt. I’m the counselor assigned to your case.” the woman began as she set aside the file and folded her hands, prim, over her desk. “As I understand it, you were referred to our office because of an… incident, that happened off-campus a few days ago, yes?” Aranea wordlessly nodded again. “I’ve… I read the report the responding paramedics submitted, but would you mind telling me what happened?”

Her thoughts flashed to that past saturday, to waking up in a bed surrounded by her friends, and a new face - Latula’s mother. Her reply was automatic, and verbatim what she’d expressed then.

“I… I had another panic attack, I guess.” Immediately, Aranea regretted saying those words, at least, the one. Another, as though she were implying that panic attacks were a regular occurrence. They were, in a sense, but the frantic subtle scrambling she’d expected from the woman sitting opposite didn’t occur. Her counselor only stared on, her concern evident on her face but not overt and suffocating. Aranea allowed herself a small inward sigh of relief.

“You’ve had panic attacks before?”

She gave another nod.

“Now, your file says that you were diagnosed with Generalized Anxiety when you were twelve, but that you only started having panic attacks a few years later.”

At that, Aranea shook her head. Such wasn’t quite true. She’d been having episodes of a sort prior to her diagnosis - that was why her mother had scheduled the appointment in the first place, after all. But rather, it was that the frequency of those episodes increased when she’d first started her year nine, and so too did their.. intensity.

“It… kind of? I mean… no. My...panic attacks.. I was having them before I was diagnosed, but, they didn’t happen all that often.” Aranea hesitantly explained. Her palms grew clammy as she struggled to put that jumble of thoughts into words. Her eyes flashed towards her counselor’s face, and still it bore that same tentative but concerned expression. Distance, that she might have the space she needed, but the woman was close enough to intervene if need be. The blonde drew a steadying breath.

“I… I mean, no. I was having panic attacks before my diagnosis. That’s why my mother took me to a therapist in the first place. But… they..didn’t happen as often as they did after, and when they did happen, back then, they.. weren’t as intense, I guess you could say.”

Her counselor just nodded, taking down a few notes and typing up a few lines on her computer. But Aranea didn’t miss the way her expression shifted from that benign expression to a more involved concern. Too, was the careful hesitation she saw earlier. “Would you mind describing them for me?” the woman asked, after a moment. There was no force behind the request, and Aranea could see her ready to back off if she needed to. “These… the panic attacks from before, I mean.”

“They… It was like I was drowning.” She began, willing herself to stay calm, or at least, detached from the familiar feeling rising in her gut, all too similar to what she was describing. She drew a tentative breath as the ghosts of the sensations that had accompanied those incidents moved through her body. She felt them distantly, more memory than anything else. But there was no helping the way her heart started beating harder and faster in her chest, or the way her skin felt tight, as though stretched across a drum, anyway. “Couldn’t breathe, couldn’t… calm down, it… felt like everyone was staring at me and I just… lost it.” The ghost of terror, no less faint but no less devastating, slid through her veins and seeped into her skin like a brisk mid-autumn breeze, no longer quite like ice. “And… I was just… terrified of not being able to.. Keep myself under control. Terrified of making a scene.” And just so, as she loosed a weary breath, the sensations abated, leaving her staring hard into warm brown eyes, concern glimmering in their depths. Her counselor spoke again.

“I see. And these were panic attacks you were having before your diagnosis?” the woman inquired, less tentatively as Aranea flashed her a small and faint but reassuring smile.

Aranea gave a small nod. “Yes.”

Her counselor furrowed her brow, and jotted down a few more notes. She made no move to enter anything into her computer, however, attention focused solely on the blonde. “And you said that after, they got more intense?”

At that question, Aranea felt genuine fear, and apprehension, begin to rise in her core. More than just ghosts or memories of her past, the attacks her counselor were asking her to describe were what she’d been enduring much more recently. One such incident was why they were here, trying to converse across a desk that suddenly felt a kilometer wide. “Yes.” at her counselor’s gesture, she continued reluctantly. “It… It was like, everything from before, but just… a little more. And like I was… shattering.” she hesitantly began. “Crumbling into a million pieces, sort of…. Kind of like say, how you are in a mirror. You see your reflection..” _Her own, in a steam-fogged mirror not even a week prior, staring back accusingly._ “And then the glass just starts to crack. At first, it’s… just a small hole in the center, but that hole just grows and everything else starts falling apart. But it’s just your reflection that breaks and…” _Ice in her veins, chilling her so deeply it stole her breath away, and left her on her knees, defeated._ “The rest of the mirror’s fine, and there’s just a you-shaped...emptiness. Cold..” More than just what she was describing, Aranea could feel the same dread and helplessness that had seen her collapse on the bathroom floor the saturday past, hovering at the edges of her mind. And at the thought, an all too familiar breathlessness stole into her lungs, and sweat broke out across her brow. Her chest felt like it would burst open, her heart was beating so hard.

Distantly, she could hear her counselor calling out to her, but the sound was lost in the thunder of her heartbeat hammering in her ears. The woman’s face, expression growing more and more concerned, became dimmer and blurrier as a memory of that night rushed to the forefront of her mind.

_Her hands grew clammy, and her throat seized up, chest suddenly heaving for breath that wouldn’t come. Her reflection in the mirror became blurry as her head spun, body feeling light in that moment. But that feeling of helplessness, of shame, flooding her form and building in the pit of her gut until her knees collapsed under the weight of it, brought her crashing down to the floor. Breath gone and feet no longer under her, her vision dimmed to black._

But her vision wasn’t dimming to black, and the feel of the seat cushion beneath her, of cool hard wood against her arms, didn’t stop registering. Aranea honed in on those points, firm and resolute amidst the storm beginning to surge in her mind. After a moment, that sensation of falling, of breaking and shattering, diminished. And all she could feel were what typically lingered in their wake. A faint ache suffused her limbs. Sweat cloyed at the roots of her hair. And her chest subtly heaved as her breath returned. The blonde continued, voice weary. “Physically, that’s what my panic attacks after my diagnosis felt like.”

Thoroughly and suddenly drained as she was, the cookie being set down in front of her didn’t register until her counselor spoke again. “Would you be okay continuing?” the woman asked tentatively, voice soft and warm as she pushed the sweet she’d set down closer and gave the blonde a carefully concerned stare.

Aranea nodded wearily, body still suffused with fatigue. It took the better part of a moment for her to finish the cookie and dispel the faint breathlessness in her chest, the apprehension hanging in the back of her head. But as sea-blue eyes locked with brown, she made her determination to see the session through to the end clear, and the woman continued in her questioning.

“Would it be fair of me to say that the… panic attack you had at the time of your incident was… different?” her counselor carefully began, hands folding over the desk once more. “Considering how you have, let’s call it a precedent, of panic attacks.. and how you’ve never passed out during those episodes, do you think there was something different about the one you had during your incident?”

At the question, Aranea could only give a confused shrug. “I… I’m not sure? It… I mean, aside from the whole passing out bit, it.. felt the same as the attacks after my diagnosis.”

Her counselor leaned forward in her chair. “What about mentally?”

“Mentally?” Aranea couldn’t help but ask as her brow furrowed in confusion.

The woman nodded as she straightened her posture.“Yes. What… how would you describe what was going in your head during your incident.”

She thought back to that saturday, fortified by the chocolate still faintly lingering on her tongue. “It… it was like I was super-aware of my body, but also... detached?” She began, voice more contemplative and thoughtful rather than verging on the edge of yet another mini-breakdown. “I know…I’m familiar with the symptoms of stress, and I could… feel them going on, but at the same time, it was like it wasn’t happening to me, if that makes sense?”

Curiosity and inspiration flashed in her counselor’s eyes, then, as though she’d stumbled onto a missing piece. “As in, you knew and understood that it was your body, and you felt these… symptoms of stress, but at the same time, it was like everything was happening to someone else?” The woman ventured tentatively, after a moment of thought.

Aranea carefully sat up in her seat, recognition and association buzzing in her head at the woman’s words. “Yes.. It was exactly like that. Like, it was my body and I knew it, but it didn’t quite feel like it was mine. As if I’d checked out mentally and I was just...watching these things happen and feeling them secondhand. And then I fell and passed out. But…”

The woman gestured for her to continue. “But…?”

“There was something I did feel, firsthand. I could feel myself… trying to breathe. Or at least, breathe properly.” She explained. Beyond that chill, beyond the sweat breaking over her skin and her heart hammering against her ribs, was something more. Both sensations were distant and faint then, but the blonde very much felt the way her chest had heaved, the way her throat fluttered as she tried to breathe through it all. But she couldn’t. All she’d known in that harrowing moment was the helpless terror that had followed in the wake of that breathlessness.

“You couldn’t breathe properly when it happened?”

Aranea gave a minute shake of her head as she scooted closer. “No, I couldn’t. Only shallow breaths. That’s…” she furrowed her brow for a moment, contemplative. “I think that’s why I passed out. Got so tense I stopped breathing, and then my body knocked itself out so I could… relax enough to breathe normally.”

At that, the woman took her words down onto paper and gave a measured nod. However, the blonde didn’t miss the subtle disengagement, or the contemplation, creeping into her expression - her thoughts were racing, Aranea was sure, beneath that carefully composed mask. “And this… mental checking out,” her counselor began, brown eyes shifting from the notes on the desk to her face. “Was it something you experienced during the attacks prior to your incident?”

“Not to the same… level, no. But… after the diagnosis, my attacks...there were elements of that mental checking out.” she confessed.

“The same level?”

“Yes… if before it was like when you’re watching television but from really close up with the volume turned low, then my incident was like watching tv from the sofa without sound.” Aranea hesitantly explained. For all the vagueness and ambiguity, such was the only way she could make sense of that ‘mental checking out’ the woman was asking her to elaborate on. “I’m sorry, I don’t know how else to describe it.” she finished with a gentle shrug.

Her counselor couldn’t help but furrow a brow, a faintly disturbed expression growing across her face. The tentative concern from before was still present, but alarm was quickly rising behind it. Difficulty breathing was a regular aspect of panic attacks, that was why one of the first coping exercises therapists suggested were deep breaths. It forced a person to be present, and in so doing diminished the loss of control a person felt during an attack. But for a disrupted mental state to so thoroughly affect more basic biological processes, for whatever event that occurred in the blonde’s head to so completely blow past that, there was something more than just anxiety at play. Just what that something was, was something the woman couldn’t divine quite yet. Considering what the blonde had described, however, she had an idea. But such wasn’t why they were here today. After a moment further of thoughtful silence, she spoke.

“Would you say that those kinds of panic attacks are a… regular occurrence?”

“I… no. I don’t think so.” Aranea began. “I’ve been… on edge a lot, but that’s mostly my anxiety.”

“On edge?”

“Yes.. tension, elevated heart rate, paranoia, I guess you could call it, sort of. Not being able to relax, and so on. But that’s all been pretty manageable. And… all that’s… actually kind of… lessened recently.” She explained. In the month since the semester started she’d experienced periods of restlessness and bouts of near debilitating self-consciousness, she’d readily admit. But much of the trepidation she’d held, and her consequent anxiety, about transferring to (island) had been dispelled by a certain violet-eyed girl, and more recently, that violet-eyed girl’s friends. ”What happened last saturday was the first full-on attack I’ve had in at least a month or so.”

At that, her counselor gave a small but warm smile. “That’s good to hear..” the woman began. But her words trailed off as shifted her attention back to her computer. “Regarding your incident on saturday, you’re dorming on campus, correct?”

Aranea gave a tentative nod, unsure as to this new round of questions.

“And you’re living alone?”

She nodded again, but after a moment of thought, she spoke. “I do, technically. But I ride to school with a friend of mine. She lives in the same complex.” Inwardly, Aranea couldn’t help but wince at the white lie. While Porrim did indeed live in the same complex and had offered, they’d yet to actually commute school together, and she’d yet to actually accept. It was a feeling made all the more prominent when her counselor continued.

“Can she be listed as an emergency contact? All you have as far as that goes in your records is your mother, but-”

“She lives in a different borough, I know. That’s why i’m dorming instead of living with her.” Aranea explained. She gave a weary sigh at that as she sat back in her chair, all too keenly reminded of the deluge of worried messages she’d gotten sunday morning from the subject of their conversation. Further, she couldn’t help but recall the glimmer of mischievous excitement she’d seen on Meenah’s face when the violet-eyed girl had seen them. It wasn’t too hard to divine the reason behind her partner’s exuberance, however, and the thought had her inwardly blustering anew. She was pulled out of her momentary diversion when the woman spoke again.

“Yes… but this friend of yours...?”

“I’ll… have to ask her. But…” Aranea gave a small and hesitant smile, then. “Would it be okay if…my partner be listed as an emergency contact too?”

“Partner…?” the woman asked, brow quirking in momentary confusion.

“Erm, yes.” Aranea nodded tentatively. “My… girlfriend.”

Her counselor shifted back in her chair, and her expression grew contemplative. “I suppose, but...emergency contacts are people who… should be able to respond in case something like your incident happens again. That’s why I was asking about your friend - if she lives close to you she can do that. And if by chance something happens and you need more serious medical treatment and go to the hospital, then she can take you home.”

Aranea’s face fell slightly, but she continued, scooting forward and leveling her gaze at the woman. “My girlfriend can do both of those things.” She insisted. “She’s… she’s got a car, so driving me home won’t be an issue if I do need to go to the hospital. And she doesn’t live too far off, considering we go to the same school.”

“But your friend lives in the same complex.” Her counselor returned, oddly imploring.

“My mother lives in a different district, though.” Aranea couldn’t help but point out, just the littlest bit defensive. A curious and faintly unpleasant sensation blossomed in her chest as she noted the subtle apprehension growing beneath her counselor’s placid, amiable mask.

“She’s family.” At that, Aranea just stared on, sea-blue eyes boring into brown. After a moment further, the woman acquiesced, pulling up another page on her computer. “I… Alright. I’ll have the front desk prepare the appropriate forms.”

“O...kay, then. I guess I’ll..” She eased away, eyes flashing to the clock on the far wall as she settled back into her seat expectantly. When her counselor said nothing else, Aranea rose and began making her way out of the room.

“Ms. Serket, wait..There’s one more thing.. Or rather, a few.” the woman motioned to a small stack of what looked to be business cards on her desk. Aranea hesitantly took one before speaking.

“Um… Yes?”

Her counselor moved forward again, posture not unlike the calculated concerned expression she bore when her appointment first started. “Would you be… open to having weekly appointments in our office? In light of your condition..” the woman asked with a careful smile. It waned somewhat when Aranea shook her head.

“I… Like I said, last saturday was the first attack i’ve had in months. And even then, my… condition’s been manageable enough recently, so….”

Her counselor gave a careful nod before gesturing again to the stack of cards and extending her hand, scribbling down a number beneath the first line when she set down the one she’d taken. The woman handed it back. “I understand. But should you feel the need to, please don’t hesitate to call the second line. It’s open during office hours as well as after.”

With an acknowledging nod, a mumbled thanks, and one last farewell, Aranea strode out the door, only too eager to reunite with a certain violet-eyed girl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cookies to anyone who can puzzle out who Nea's counselor is.
> 
> feedback and comments are appreciated :)


	24. New Horizons

A soft sigh passed Aranea’s lips as she exited the office, relief surging through her as she let the door slip closed. Gone was the tightness that had risen in her chest at the tail-end of her appointment, in its place a welcome warmth as she ambled towards a familiar figure sitting by the window. Her partner hadn’t moved from their spot, it seemed, and at the thought, she couldn’t help but chuff under her breath, waving her hand as she tried to catch her partner’s attention.

“Meenah.” Aranea called out brightly.

Meenah looked up from her phone, and rose, a soft smile displacing her pensive expression as her partner came closer. “Hey.” She took Aranea into her arms, trapping her partner in a firm embrace before continuing. “How’d things go with the counselor?”

“Okay. I think.” Aranea replied with a crooked grin, perfectly sunny and carefree as she eagerly returned her partner’s touch.

“You think?” Meenah couldn’t help but ask as her head tilted to the side, brow rising in equal parts curiosity and skepticism. And though she wasn’t sure, she couldn't help but take note of the strange weariness in her partner’s eyes, buried beneath perfectly sincere light-heartedness.

“Well, she isn’t going to keep me, so I’ve got a clean bill of… well, health.” Aranea elaborated. A half-truth, considering how the counselor asked that she consider scheduling future appointments. But just as well, that smile remained as her hands drew down to her partner’s, their fingers lacing together as she continued. “I guess.”

At that word - guess, Meenah’s expression fell a touch more. Guilt briefly stabbed through her chest. But concern rooted in the countless minutes during Aranea’s appointment she’d spent ruminating over the events of the weekend past compelled her to pop her partner’s bubble of nonchalance as carefully as she could. “...you guess?” She inquired gently.

“Yeah. She just gave me this card and some forms to fill out and sent me on my way.” Aranea explained, before fixing her partner with a quizzical smile, and shifting her grip from Meenah’s arm to her hand when her pensive expression stayed. “...what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. _I guess_.”

Aranea couldn’t help but roll her eyes at that, not at all missing the cheek behind the word. But upon taking note of the solemnity beginning to color the expression on Meenah’s face, she immediately turned her full attention to her partner. “Meenah?”

“You… probably… know more about this sort of thing than I do, but…” She began.

Aranea gave a careful nod, motioning for her to continue.

Meenah sighed, her thoughts returning to the weekend past. Images of that night - ambulances, errantly flashing amber lights, the crowd gathered in front of the complex, Aranea, small and soft and frail surrounded by their distraught friends, rushed through her mind in a dizzying blur. And the consequent fear that had gripped her heart so tightly in her chest then, that cold dark feeling that had twisted itself through her ribs, throbbed to elicit another sigh, more weary than the last. The fear that had risen within her in that moment was so profound, so deeply penetrating, that she couldn’t put it into words. And the distance from it she’d gained in the time since only made the endeavor that much more challenging.

“I… was just thinking about what.. About what you told Latula’s mom. About panic attacks.” she continued as she laced her fingers her partner’s. ‘A history of panic attacks’ was how the elder Pyrope had put it, how her partner had affirmed it. And that thought - that Aranea had a history of panic attacks and she herself was none the wiser about her partner’s condition, saw the tension in her gut twist tighter. Her neck flushed with the heat of shame. And guilt, at more than dissolving her cheery mood, stabbed through Meenah’s chest.

“Oh.” the syllable tumbled from her lips, clumsy and cold like a stone. Aranea stood shock still, suddenly and violently unsure of how to take the violet-eyed girl’s words. The feel of familiar fingers in her own kept at bay the worst of what her runaway imagination could conjure. But she couldn’t keep the apprehension quickly rising in her chest and diffusing throughout her body from making itself known. “I… I see..”

Meenah was quick to clarify herself when her partner’s face fell, nuzzling at Aranea’s cheek and forcing a smile she hoped was consoling. “Hey… hey, I didn’t mean it like that, okay?” she assured the girl. “I just…” she shook her head, then. Meenah breathed, taking a long moment to organize her thoughts. “Can we talk?” she asked, voice suddenly small and soft. “...Like, really talk…” she continued hesitantly. “About what happened last saturday…?”

“Yes, of course!” her partner was quick to reply, taking hold of her hand and leading her back to the sitting area and waiting until she was properly seated before gesturing for her to continue. “What… what did you want to talk about?”

“Just… things.” the violet-eyed girl returned stiffly. “It’s like… like after a full day of not being able to talk to you, I… I find out that there are paramedics at your door and you’re…” Again Meenah couldn’t help but pause. She swallowed thickly around the swelling stubborn knot in her throat belying the ache in her chest. The pit of her stomach twisted as Aranea, pale and drawn and drowning in bedclothes, unconscious, flashed behind her eyes. “a..all bundled up like a baby and bedridden and shit.” A smile broke through her somber expression. But it didn’t breach the distance in her stare, nor do away with the tension that had come to drape over them. Violet flashed to sea blue and held shakily as she spoke. “Shit’s mad stressful, you know?”

“I’m sorry..”

Meenah shook her head, however. “Hey… don’t be… You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for, okay?” she insisted with a half-smile that softened, and widened as she continued. Her thumb was stroking circles over her partner’s hand, both for her own benefit as well as Aranea’s. “It’s just… I just want to, you know, um… inform myself so that the next time something like that happens, I can help you.” Meenah clumsily explained as she gave Aranea’s fingers a hesitant squeeze, but for the nervous fluttering in her chest, she couldn’t help the sudden trembling of her hands. The subject was, in all likelihood, a sensitive one. She loathed the idea of being the person to drag things of this sort out, to lay bare her partner’s vulnerabilities. But all the thunderous hammering of her heart against her chest wouldn’t keep her from having an honest conversation about them, not when her partner’s life could very much be on the line. “Or… or help someone else who can help you and like... indirectly help you instead of, you know, sitting on my hands like some kind of… dingus.”

Whole-hearted relief surged through Aranea’s form at that, and all the apprehension in her chest bubbled away as she took in Meenah’s face. The discomfort that had made itself plain over their brief exchange was there, but more than that, was the wholehearted and sincere concern for her well-being her partner was trying to put into words. It was there now, she could see, perfectly evident in the hesitant but hopeful look the violet-eyed girl sent back her way.

“Meenah.” She breathed, fingers slipping out of her partner’s to settle delicately on either side of her partner’s face.

“W..what?”

“You shouldn’t frown like that.” Aranea quipped gently, thumbs shifting to the corners of her partner’s mouth before carefully easing them upward. “You’ll get wrinkles.”

Meenah couldn’t help but frown all the same, fixing her partner with an indignant look.“I’m being serious h-”

Aranea lurched forward, sealing her lips against her partner’s and cutting off any further retorts with a heated and heartfelt kiss before pulling back. “I know.” she assured her partner as she took hold of Meenah’s hand. “And that … It really means a lot to me for you to say that.”

Meenah gave another nod, violet eyes holding against sea blue for a long moment, a thousand and one questions rising to the front of her mind. “So… will.. You tell me more about…” her words trailed off, and she could only gesture to the nonexistent space between them, hoping Aranea would understand.

Aranea nodded. “Everything I can.” A subtle smile curled over her lips, coloring her expression with an almost-serene tenderness as she continued.

Meenah, for her part, made no attempt to hide the way her heart skipped a beat at the sight, of that not-so-bashful but no less heartstopping crescent of a smile. She only loomed closer, until her partner brought up a firm hand, delicate fingers brushing against her lips and halting her advance. Her brow furrowed at the way that expression shifted into something less innocuous, and more sly by far.

“But… Later.” Aranea continued. “Right now though I just… really want one of those extra thick shakes from Carson’s. And maybe some fries. And also possibly a mushroom and Swiss burger.” She mused, inwardly giggling at the deadpan mask breaking through her partner’s heartfelt gaze. And just as well, the blonde loosed a laugh thick with mirth and levity as she fixed Meenah girl with a deceptively impish stare. But despite the fact, and her mischievous countenance, there was no hiding the warmth bleeding into her smile. Nor the increasingly shit-eating bent to the curl of her lips as she continued.“To quote this amazing woman who’s had a tremendous positive impact in my life…” she gestured to the door behind her. “‘shit’s mad stressful, you know?’”

“You...” Meenah loosed an incredulous laugh, all tension in her from bubbling away with each relieved breath.

“I’m not kidding.” Aranea returned airily. “I feel like I could eat a horse right now.”.

“...you could eat me instead.” She muttered under her breath as she rose, all too aware of the color suddenly flaring in her partner’s cheeks at the remark. All the same, she smiled, the curl of her lips just as shit-eating and warm as the one playing at Aranea’s.

“Meenah!”

Meenah, just kept on, cackling as all the weight of their brief conversation fell away. She grabbed the blonde’s hand and tugged her out of her seat, leading her partner down to the stairwell and heedless of Aranea’s flustered attempts at a retort. She would have loved pushing to the logical end of that particular quip and making it a reality, she’d readily admit. But there was nothing on her mind less innocuous than spending the rest of the day watching the sunset with the girl by her side, stuffing their faces with burgers, shakes, fries, and whatever else her partner’s heart desired. It was with a light and glad heart that her mind turned to the future, to the coming Friday, and all the days after that would come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that concludes the first part of what I hope will be the Concrete Angels series. Part two is still up in the air right now, like, really up in the air, so I don't know. If you enjoyed the fic, please feel free to drop a kudos, or even better, a comment. Even keysmashing would be aces. And as always, feedback is appreciated. And yes, constructive criticism too, considering this is my first fic and it probably has all sorts of issues I'm not even aware off, but! Writing it was a blast. Hope you all enjoyed it.
> 
> On that note, I am looking for a beta. If anyone is interested, please let me know in the comments and I'll get back to you as soon as I'm able.
> 
> happy reading :)


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